Eyes on the Future
by springinkerl
Summary: Part 3 of "Eyes on the Horizon": With the Companions, the Dragonborn has found a home and her personal luck. But Alduin still threatens not only to destroy everything she has built up, but to end the world and with it time itself. If she wants the future she dreams of, she'll have to take up the fight and risk losing everything she lives for. F!Dovahkiin/Farkas
1. Witnesses

His name was Harrald, he was the son of Falkreath's smith, and he was the man of my dreams. At the age of 12 he was already nearly a man, and he was strong, strong enough to blow the bellows at his father's forge for hours on end. He had fiery red hair that stood in spikes into all directions when it was sweaty and neatly combed when he came for a visit with his mother. He had freckles on forearms and on the bridge of his nose and the most beautiful green eyes that never dared to look at me and my sister without him blushing to a bright pink.

He was cute and manly and perfect, and I wanted to marry him.

My sister agreed with me. Of course I would have killed her if she had dared to utter a single word of critique about my chosen one. But we agreed most of the time anyway, and she found him wonderful too. And cute, manly and perfect.

Now I wanted to kill her for being like me.

We didn't fight often, my sister and I, and when we did, it was usually because one of us claimed to be better than the other at something we thought we both had to excel at. As a rule, these quarrels were decided by an arbitrament of our parents and only made the inferior party try harder.

But this was different. This was serious and something our parents were never allowed to know. Our futures hang in the balance, after all. When we yelled at each other how he would suit her much better than me and how he could only love one of us and that he was mine - or hers - forever, we were careful to be out of earshot. When we didn't yell at each other, we didn't speak at all. And for the first time, we refused to sleep in the same bed.

All this went on for a whole horrible week, and it was the first time that I felt alone. My little stubborn 10-year-old self only didn't give in because she nursed the firm belief that she'd never be alone as soon as Harrald proposed to her and that she'd never need her nasty selfish sister again.

Until my mother took us both by the ears and gave us an angry roasting.

"He will marry none of you sillies," she snarled, and I was as dumbstruck as my sister that she knew that we were on bad terms to begin with, and further that she knew what it was about. Dumbstruck and incredibly humiliated. "That boy has three sisters. You really think he'd marry a bickering hag that can't even get along with her own? You should be ashamed!"

That evening we crawled under the same blanket again, and I felt guilty and relieved and not alone any more. And when we giggled and laughed and apologised to each other, we came up with the perfect solution, wondering why we hadn't thought about it earlier. He'd just have to marry both of us.

But Jara was dead three months later, and I forgot about Harrald. Marriage stopped being something worth striving for, the silly dream of a silly child.

When I asked Farkas now if he'd marry us both if she were here because once we had decided that this was the way it had to be, he took the question seriously.

"No." He answered my smirk with a stern gaze. "I would love her as your sister and as my sister-in-law. I would adore her, because she would be a lot like you. But she wouldn't be you, and I would never love her like I love you."

Marriage wasn't something to strive for. It was something that happened when someone else had become an integral, unique, indispensable part of a life.

"Ah, someone's happy again," Aela teased when we finally emerged tightly embraced from the living quarters. "I already thought a sabrecat broke into your room tonight, Qhouri."

"You know I need my porridge to be happy," I grinned at her. "And thanks for the worry, much appreciated, but I know how to defend myself."

Farkas just barked out a laughter and brought his mouth to my ear. "You wanna tell them?" he whispered.

I thought for a moment, then shook my head. "Not yet, please."

"Why not? Why don't you want them to know?" he asked that evening, when we were finally alone. More than once I had to nudge him into silence over the day, when he made the impression as if was about to burst.

He had set me straight with his outbreak, and no doubts were left. I wanted to marry him because it meant something and felt right. But the thought to make it official, to tell the others and set the inevitable machinery of preparations and arrangements in motion made me cringe inwardly.

"You know what will happen if they do?" I gave him a slightly desperate grin.

"Yeah. All hell will break lose." A cheeky smile appeared on his face. "Kodlak will instantly start to make the invitation lists. The girls will fight over the colour of their dresses, Tilma will plan the menu and Torvar where he can hide you after the kidnapping."

"Kidnapping?" I shrieked.

"Yeah. The bride is kidnapped sometime between the wedding and the wedding night. And the groom has to redeem her." He looked as if he looked very much forward to it.

I groaned with distress. This was even worse than I had anticipated. When he saw my face, his grin faded.

"What's the matter, Qhouri?"

"I don't wanna be a spoilsport." I lowered my head and shrugged. "I mean... I wanna marry you. But does it have to be with so much fuss? To have a party like that, as long as... you know. And the preparations alone would take weeks." I didn't want to waste so much time, and considering that our honeymoon would consist in a chase after an artefact that could easily drive me insane, I couldn't bear the thought of having to feign careless frolic. But what I wanted was probably irrelevant.

He looked at me for a long time. "You want us to run off."

"No! I know we can't do that. They'd kill us." My hands clenched in my lap as I sighed in defeat. "Perhaps... we can convince them to keep it small?"

"I don't want to keep it small. I want a feast we'll never forget, bigger than the one we had for your initiation." I groaned in distress. Of course that was what he wanted, no way he'd exclude his family from his own wedding. And all the people that stood in any kind of relationship with the Companions, from the Jarl to the market vendors, from important clients to friends and associates from all over Skyrim. That I was so uncomfortable with the fuss all these people would make was pretty selfish anyway.

But he gave me a gentle smile and took my hands in his. "But it doesn't have to be now. Perhaps you're right. Perhaps this isn't the right time for something like that."

"I thought you don't wanna wait until I've used the scroll."

"I don't, and I won't. But when we go to Riften, it's okay when it's just you and me."

I stared at him with wide open eyes. "You'd really run off with me?"

"Of course, if that's what it takes to make you marry me."

"I'd marry you even if we had to invite all of Whiterun and Morthal. I hope you know that."

"Yeah, I know. And that's what we will do. Later."

I felt a mountain lift off my mind and my mood. "I love you."

"That's good," he chuckled with a broad grin. "Because when we come back with the rings, everyone else will hate us."

We both knew that the vows in the Temple of Mara wouldn't change much between us, if anything at all. But the following days were a bit like the time we spent together on our journey to Northwatch Keep - a time that only belonged to us, full of anticipation. We both enjoyed to have this secret, something just between the two of us, and to keep it to ourselves. We did a couple of odd jobs, I tested my new fighting abilities against him and was smeared into the chinks between the cobblestones, much to his and our siblings' neverending amusement, and we spent the evenings in the Mare or at the comforting fire at home.

And we went out hunting, the first time ever we ran together and I didn't have to be guarded and guided. Now I knew what I was doing, and it was amazing. Where Aela was fierce, aggressive and heedless, Farkas' wolf was more like the man - determined and incredibly efficient, but also always attentive for his partner. And where Aela liked to play with her prey, to wound it and chase it until it had to give in, Farkas hunted solely for the kill, and he was satisfied when he got it.

The simple thrill of the chase and the kill, the scent of fear and blood, the wind in our furs, driven only by the most basic urges - this was part of our bond, only deepened by the experience. When we howled our triumph at the moons and everything but an answering pack of wolves fell silent, frozen with terror, I was one with my mate and the world around us.

"Hm," he said as we lay in the grass at a small pond where we had washed ourselves after changing back, "it's better to run in a pack. Much better than alone."

I enjoyed the deep satisfaction of having fed, the subtle pain of the change still lingering in my bones and my senses still acutely aware of all the sounds and smells around us."I've been with Aela lately."

"I know." He turned to me, searching my face. "And I've run with Vilkas."

My breath hitched, but I had nothing to say to that. On the one hand, I was curious what had happened between the twins over the last weeks. On the other hand, I didn't want to know. I didn't want to get involved with him, and it wasn't my business.

"I'm glad, Qhouri," he said lowly. "I'm really glad how it all turned out. I know Kodlak thinks you'll regret it... but it feels right. This is what we are."

Yes, it was. Perhaps it was unnatural and the result of dark magic, perhaps it made us less human than others, but it wasn't evil. Nothing that gave such fulfilment could be evil. We were man and beast, split characters and souls, but we were also able to deal with it. We weren't evil. Just different, and I refused to feel guilty about it.

"Perhaps Hircine was right. Perhaps we're strongest as a pack."

"Yeah, I think he was."

And that meant that Vilkas belonged to us. Even if wasn't here, even if I never met him again – he belonged to us, on a level so deep that it was impossible to tear him away.

Unless Kodlak found the cure.

"What will you do... if Kodlak is successful?"

He was quiet for a long time, rolled to his back and stared up at the stars. But his hand searched for mine. "I don't know," he said finally. "I don't dread Hircine's reign. In the end, this is a decision each of us has to make for himself."

"We will make it together."

"Aye." I nearly missed his words, they were so quiet. "But I meant it, Qhouri. I meant it when I said I belong to you, in this life and in the next."

When we entered town one evening after an unspectacular bandit wipeout, Farkas pointed at a small cottage next to the Warmaidens smithy.

"It's for sale," he said casually.

"Yeah, I know," I said, "Adrianne told me. I hope for her that someone nice moves in."

His elbow gently prodded my ribs. "We could, we're nice enough," he said with a smirk.

I stopped in the middle of the street, staring at him. "What? Buy it?"

"Aye," he grinned, "I've spoken with Provenicci. You want it?"

By. The. Gods. The man was crazy.

"What, and leave Aela alone with the whelps? You're crazy, Farkas."

He grasped my hand and led me to the stairs of the cottage, beckoning me to sit down beside him. "You've got to think of yourself once in a while, Qhouri. If you want a home for yourself, you're gonna get it. It's not that we'd move to Markarth."

It wasn't that I didn't want a home of my own. Of course I was happy in Jorrvaskr, but the idea to live with him like every other next-doors couple – it had something strangely appealing, because it was something so normal. Under different circumstances. If there weren't things like ancient Dwemer kingdoms, maddening Elder Scrolls and worldeating dragons to think of.

"And what's the use of a house that stands empty most of the time? Do you have time to tend for a garden?"

He raised his hands. "Hey, it was just an idea!"

He was so adorably enthusiastic, I hated to disappoint him. He just meant well - whatever he had said, he believed in our future and wanted to build something up, with as much normality as possible. Even if it was just an illusion. But I couldn't afford to lull myself into such soothing, treacherous dreams, even if it was more than tempting.

"I don't wanna leave Jorrvaskr, Farkas. It's my home, and… I can't settle down yet, not like that. We have already our rooms there, isn't that enough?"

He nuzzled his nose against mine. "Of course it's enough. A bunk in the dorm would be enough if I can share it with you. Just forget this silly idea."

But I didn't. I admired his confidence and trust, even if it seemed naïve from time to time. Perhaps his ideas weren't so silly at all – to build something that was worth working and fighting for. Perhaps I wasn't crazy when I climbed the steps to Dragonsreach myself to speak with the Jarl's steward.

In the end, we really left for our extended journey to Blackreach and told no one. Or nearly no one. Once again, it was impossible to keep a secret from Athis, and he left me no choice. On our last evening in the Mare, the mer shooed Ria out of her chair beside me and claimed it for himself. And the way he looked, I knew beforehand that it'd be impossible to fool him.

"Spit it out," he said with a boyish grin, "you've got more on your mind than just hitting Falmer and Dwemer toys."

I hid my tinged cheeks in my tankard. Gods, that mer was as attentive as obtrusive.

And it was pointless to deny. "Not your business," I grunted into my drink.

"Ah, a confession!" he laughed and ogled over to Farkas. "Shall I ask _him_?"

"Athis… don't be so nosey. And if we had? So what?"

"Because…" he drawled, "your exceptional mood lately and the way you two are glued together speaks volumes, and I don't like it at all when you keep secrets from me. Especially not the good ones. It's good to see you so happy, and I wanna know why."

"I've every reason to be happy after all that hassle with Vilkas!"

But it took more to shake his determination. He just shook his head, his crimson eyes sparkling. "It's not because of Vilkas. You were calm and relieved when you came back from Rorikstead. Now you're giddy like a little girl."

I looked at him over the brim of my drink. I wanted to tell him. It was silly, but I wanted his… approval. I wanted him to tell me that it was right. He was something like my safety line, after all.

Some fresh air would help me to clear my head, and I beckoned him to follow me.

"Promise you'll tell no one," I said sternly when we had settled outside on the stairs, the nightly breeze fresh on my heated face. Summer wasn't over yet, but the harvest had begun, the days became shorter and the nights cooler.

Athis nodded, and I had to suppress a fit of giggles. Partly because of the mead, but mostly because I suddenly realised that what Farkas and I were about to do was really, really ridiculous.

"We're heading out for Alftand tomorrow, but we're gonna make a little sidetrip first." The mer looked expectantly. "To Riften."

His strong brows furled in confusion. "Riften? What in Oblivion are you searching in that rotten…"

He paused, and I saw him think, and then he started to laugh. "Gods, Qhouri, are you serious? You're gonna …"

"Shhh," I hushed him, "Athis, hold your tongue!"

He mercifully lowered his voice. "You know that no one will ever forgive you for this, don't you?" His angled face crinkled with amusement when I shrugged helplessly.

"Yeah, I know. We'll make good for it later."

"But why? Why not make it… official?"

"It's… a bit difficult. All the arrangements for a proper wedding would just take too long. The others would go crazy, I daren't even imagine what the girls would get up to. And… I've got to get through that blasted Scroll thing first before I can think of celebrating. Let's see first if I'm still able to do anything at all after that."

I leant against the wooden railing, Athis squatting in front of me, slowly rocking back and forth. "It was Farkas' idea, am I right?" I just nodded, and he laid his wrists on my shoulders. "Yeah, thought so. He's a good man. Are you happy?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm happy, and I wanna marry him. I just wish… everything were a bit easier. A bit more normal. He has a hard time with me. I know it, but I can't change it, and that hurts."

Athis smiled. "He adores you, Qhouri, and he has a back broad enough to lean on. And not only literally. Don't forget to enjoy what you have now, will you?"

We spent a moment in silence, and I simply enjoyed his company. That I had told him of our plans filled me with a strange relief. With the journey ahead, all the dangers and uncertainties waiting for us, it could easily be the last of these moments… and we were both aware of it, although none of us dared to say it out loud.

The door to the inn clapped and broke the mood, followed by a low chuckle from above. "Don't wanna disturb…," Farkas said, looking curiously down on us, "but I'm heading home. Better get some sleep if we wanna head out early."

Athis rose with a laughter and offered a hand to help me up. "Sleep, eh? And I just thought I could get your woman another mead."

"No way I'm gonna miss out on a free drink!" I pressed a fast kiss on Farkas' cheek. "Don't wait for me, love," I whispered into his ear before I grasped Athis' wrist and drew him back into the inn, where warmth and stories and companionship were waiting for us. I wanted to drink and sing and celebrate with them, enjoy the time we had together. Enjoy what I had now, like the mer had said.

* * *

Our journey to Riften was cursed, as if the gods wanted to test our perseverance. The difficulties started with a new group of outlaws that had settled in the infamous Valtheim towers, in Ivarstead we were greeted by a dragon sitting on top of the barrow, and another one attacked while we made camp at the shores of Lake Honrich.

Another assassin tried to kill me, but now I wasn't dependent on Farkas any more to notice him in time. To drive my sword through his guts filled me with deep satisfaction. Too bad I ruined the armour of the Khajiit, I would have liked to see Farkas in that tight-fitting outfit. But this time we also found an assassination contract in one of his pockets, signed by someone called Astrid. I didn't know what I liked less, to be called a _poor fool _or that someone had gone through the hassle to perform a Black Sacrament to get me killed.

And when we thought it couldn't come worse, a Thalmor patrol got in our way. The Rift was Stormcloak territory, but the Justiciar and his lackeys marched along the main road as if it belonged to them. When we approached them, they were harassing a farmer who either used too much space with his carriage or didn't show the deference they thought they were entitled to. The poor man knelt beside his cart with a sword at his neck while one of the soldiers was busy freezing the load of cabbages into a solid block that would turn into worthless mush as soon as they thawed.

The mer with the sword was the first who died to my arrow, and the others were no match to Thu'um, Skyforge Steel and beast senses.

After all that, Riften was still the same rotting, reeking fishhole it had always been, and the warm summer days had made the overall stench of decay and rot even worse. Or perhaps I just didn't notice the smell as intense during my former visits.

None of us wanted to stay here longer than necessary, but if we had imagined we could just stroll into the temple, get married and be off again, we were grievously mistaken.

Of course we needed the rings – that was the easiest part, there were several vendors specialised in wedding bands, and we chose the simplest matching gold rings we could find, only let them engrave on the inside with our names.

It was the priest in the Temple of Mara that really strained my nerves. We entered only to make an appointment for the ceremony, but he held on us for hours with a longwinded, solemn speech about his goddess, the importance of love, what the temple did to spread her gift - and that he'd gladly accept any help in funding his work, of course - and that no couple in Skyrim should live without her blessing.

It wasn't _what _he preached, it was the way he did it. So… incredibly pious. Completely detached from everyday's life and with no real interest in the personal circumstances of the people who had to call upon his service. More than once I was tempted to cut him short and just tell him that we were both already claimed by a Daedric Prince.

But that would've been not only inappropriate, it would have felt like a betrayal of our own tradition and our identity. We still were both Nords, raised in the belief of the Nine Divines, and they were important. Mara's blessing was important, no matter what a mess my - and in a lesser regard Farkas' as well - spiritual affinities were.

But it was the priest's casual farewell before he finally let us leave that left us completely stunned.

"See you tomorrow then. Don't forget the rings, and tell your witnesses to be on time."

"Witnesses?" we gasped in unison, staring bewildered first at the robed man, then at each other.

He looked confused at our obvious agitation. "Yes, witnesses. You need two of them. You certainly have some friends or family to accompany you on your great day, don't you?"

Eh… no. We didn't have witnesses. And we had no idea where to find them at such short notice.

What a stupid rule. As if it wasn't enough that every single couple in Skyrim had to make its way to Riften, no, they had to drag others along? My anger and lamenting when we were back at the tavern didn't help us in the slightest, though.

"Perhaps we should just hire someone? Or kidnap? Gods, I sense a business here. Professional witnessing, for lost souls like us who just wanna get over with it," Farkas mumbled into his mead.

"You just wanna get over with it?" My voice had a shrill edge to it, a sign that I started to get nervous.

But he leant over and covered my hands with his. "Of course not, Qhouri. But I want… a ceremony that means something, something that is about us and not just some hollow rites. Not that ridiculous priest who has no idea who we are, and not such silly…"

There was a movement where it didn't belong. I leaped out of my chair and over the narrow table, my fingers clenching tightly around a neck before he could finish the sentence. My victim was locked in her crouched position behind Farkas, nimble fingers still stuck in his belt, blue eyes glaring at me in silent rage. A small, slender Nord woman writhed in my grip, with lanky brown hair framing a face that seemed to be twisted into a permanent scowl. A scowl that now changed into a snarl when Farkas stood up and towered above her while she struggled against my grasp.

"What was that?" he asked threateningly with a false, toothy smile.

The way the woman growled at him showed that she was at least no coward. "Nothing! Let me go!"

Slowly I let her stand up, one hand locking her wrists behind her back, the other holding a dagger to her throat. The inspiration struck me when she was trapped between us, her eyes glaring daggers despite the humiliating situation she was in.

She wore an armour I had seen before. A broad grin spread over my face.

Farkas watched me curiously. "You look far too bloodthirsty for this simple thief," he said with a smirk.

We spoke over her head, and in the meantime the scene had attracted the attention of the whole inn. Not that anyone dared to intervene.

I grinned at him. "She's no simple thief, dear. And perhaps she's the answer to our problem." The confusion that spread equally over the faces of the thief and the Companion was priceless. "Wait for me here, please. I'll take her home, and if we're lucky she gets us what we need," I said to Farkas before I drew the woman out of the inn, his puzzled look following us.

Despite the dagger at her neck she was still reluctant to keep quiet. "Where are we going? You're just a blasted stranger!"

"Not as strange as you think, thief," I sneered, increasing the pressure of the blade to her skin. Only when we made our way directly to the graveyard she gasped lowly, giving away her surprise, and her shoulders slumped forwards in defeat when I activated the hidden mechanism in the small mausoleum to open the back door to the Thieves Guild.

"Let's go home, girl," I whispered into her ear before I forced her to climb down the ladder without letting her out of my grip.

As soon as we emerged from the entrance, the scraping of stone against stone from the hidden panel was replaced by the noise of unsheathed weapons. A bunch of thieves left whatever they were doing in the large room and formed a half-circle around us. I searched for a vaguely familiar face, but unfortunately there was no one amongst them I had met during my first visit. I wasn't so foolish to underestimate these people, and I knew it was a risk to come down here as a stranger with one of their sisters in crime under my thumb. They'd intervene with my first careless step, and so I stopped cautiously right behind the doorstep, holding the woman in front of me.

But before I could open my mouth and ask for Brynjolf or Rune, the door at the back of the room opened and the redheaded thief rushed in, axe and dagger brandished. It seemed someone had been faster than me and called him from the Ragged Flagon. As soon as he saw me, a lighthearted grin settled on his face, the tension in his steps released and he lowered his weapon, beckoning his fellows to do the same.

"Lass!" he said with a broad smile, "you can't just come in and have a drink with us, can you? You need to make an _appearance_!"

"Good to see you too, Brynjolf," I laughed relieved at the man and his jovial greeting, "but your sister here presented me with an opportunity I just couldn't pass on." Finally I lowered the dagger from her throat, but I didn't let her go. Not yet.

"What did you get yourself into, Sapphire?" Brynjolf eyed the woman curiously. I answered for her.

"She tried to steal from… a friend of mine. You should teach your fellows to leave us Companions alone, it's not worth the risk. If he had caught her, she'd be dead by now."

"And how do I know that you're Companions?" Sapphire's snarl was dripping with hate and frustration.

I smirked at her. "That's _your _problem, isn't it?"

But Brynjolf chimed in. "That was really stupid, Sapphire. Even if you don't know the Dragonborn, you better learn to estimate people. Just look at this armour." His gaze wandered to my face. "Will you let her go?"

"Wouldn't have brought her here if I wanted to pass her to the guards, would I?" I chuckled. "No… I need your help, Brynjolf, and I hope we can make a deal. Her freedom against a bit of your precious time. Just one hour, from you and one of your fellows, and I'd prefer Rune if he's available. Nothing dangerous, nothing illegal. Just one hour."

Now it was his turn to look surprised. "And I so hoped you just wanted to have a drink with me, lass." He shook his head in feigned disappointment. "What _exactly_ is it you need us for?"

I finally loosened my grip around the woman's neck and released her wrists. "Honestly, I'd prefer to discuss that in private. And I'll take on your offer."

We found Rune in the makeshift tavern I already knew, the young Imperial greeting me with a pleased, lighthearted smile. After we settled around a table, I took a deep breath.

"Okay, guys. Promise you won't laugh." I looked expectantly at the men. Rune just nodded, curious but sympathetic, but Brynjolf already suppressed a snicker. Oh my, he'd have so much fun with me.

"My problem is… I don't know anyone in Riften but the Jarl, her steward and you. Not that we're close, but… our last business has gone quite well, hasn't it?"

Brynjolf just nodded. "Out with it, lass. Don't put us on the rack."

"Well… okay." Suddenly I was nervous, my hands clenching around my mug. "The thing is, I've an appointment tomorrow morning. In the Temple of Mara, and I only learned today that I need to bring two witnesses. That's where you come in."

My expectant look was answered first by cluelessness, then a slow understanding, then bewilderment and finally by a booming laughter that earned us very curious looks from the people lingering at the bar.

"Okay," Brynjolf drawled after he had wiped the tears from his face, "let me get this straight. You _marry _tomorrow?"

I nodded. This wasn't funny. And yet, it was. At least for him, I had to concede.

"And you're alone in Riften?"

"Yes. We didn't know about the stupid witness rule."

"Who's the lucky one?"

"Another Companion."

"He's the one Sapphire tried to… unburden?"

"Yes."

"And where is he now?"

What was this, a cross-examination? But if I couldn't convince these guys to help us, we'd have to cancel our own wedding. My grin was slightly twisted.

"Waiting in the Bee and Barb. Couldn't quite bring him here as well, could I?"

"No, you couldn't, and I appreciate the consideration. But Rune can. Get him here, lad. If she's gonna marry him, he's trustworthy enough."

I groaned. "Is that really necessary?"

But Brynjolf just smirked happily and shooed Rune away. "Oh yes, Dragonborn. Yes, it absolutely is."

I should have known that Brynjolf would exploit his advantage, with the situation as embarrassing for me as it was amusing for him. The Dragonborn had to beg a bunch of thieves to help her with her own wedding. I didn't even dare to imagine what Athis would have to say to this. Or Aela. Or _Njada_.

We sat awkwardly with our meads, the silence between us only interrupted by my nervous tapping on the wooden surface of the table and Brynjolf's occasional snicker.

"Gods, lass, _why_?" he finally burst out with another roaring laughter.

"Why what?"

"Why are you in this incredibly silly situation? I mean, you know half the world, and you come to _me_?"

I sighed. "No, Brynjolf, I don't know half the world. Half the world knows me, that's a subtle but important difference." I propped my chin in my palm. Perhaps this whole idea wasn't as brilliant as I had thought. "You know, we just want to marry. Without effort, without long preparations, without the attention we'd get if we announced it. And so we basically just ran off."

"Hm," the thief mused, "pretty sneaky, to keep something like that to yourself. If I didn't know any better, I'd ask you again if you wanna work for me."

He really managed to make me laugh. "Oh, I can be very sneaky when it matters. Farkas though… not so much."

A commotion at the edge of the tavern proved me right. My beloved betrothed emerged from the entrance right behind a Rune who looked so relieved as if he just escaped from prison. And Farkas, fully clad in Dragonbones, warpainted and with the Skyforge sword at his side wore the most frightening scowl he could muster. Brynjolf's eyes grew wide when he saw him duck through the doorframe.

"Remind me not to anger you, lass," he whispered, but the cheerful smile didn't leave his face when he stood up and offered the Companion a greeting hand.

Farkas ignored it though and looked expectantly at me. With a barely visible sparkle in his eyes, where the warpaint crinkled in his laughlines. People who didn't know him would have probably taken his stare as threatening.

"Don't tell me you're serious, honey," he said in his deepest, most rumbling voice, "what in Oblivion do you expect to find _here_?"

The hushed chatter at the bar and the other tables had deceased entirely in the meantime, everyone listening to our exchange. I could feel the tension in the air.

"The solution to our problem, love," I answered with my sweetest smile. "You know, these guys aren't as good in solving other people's problems as we are, but they're better than nothing." Brynjolf's annoyed grunt was my little revenge. "Let me introduce you, dear."

I turned to the thief. "Brynjolf, this is Farkas, Companion from Whiterun and member of their inner Circle." I took his hand. "And this is Brynjolf, second in command of Skyrim's Thieves Guild. And I think you already met Rune, also known as Thalmor-slayer?" I smiled at the young man who gave me a relieved grin.

"Yeah, so to say. He nearly killed me! Perhaps I should have changed out of this armour?"

"Once bitten, twice shy, boy," Farkas rumbled, nodded curtly to Brynjolf and drew me into a corner. "Are you _crazy_? What in Oblivion are you doing down here? This rathole is even worse than everything you told me!"

"I've asked Bryn and Rune to be our witnesses tomorrow, and he insisted on sending Rune to fetch you. You have a better idea? What did you think I'm doing here, have a stag party?"

His agitated stare slowly turned into something else, but instead of the furious roar even I expected in the meantime, he started to grin. Broadly. "Qhouri, thieves? Seriously? For our wedding? And what about my fabulous kidnapping idea?"

I shrugged, glad how relaxed he took in the situation. So far, at least. "These guys are okay, Farkas. Yes, they're sleeky little bitches, but… they're okay. And fun."

His fingers drove through his hair. "Gods, and I just wanted a quiet little ceremony, only for the two of us." He sighed deeply, but I saw that he didn't mean it. "You're aware that you and I and all of the Companions will never hear the end of it if this little arrangement ever gets out of these sewers?"

I chuckled. "If I cared what others think we'd be in Whiterun now and busy signing invitations for at least half the hold's population. Let's just get this over with, okay?"

His eyebrows rose high, but then he lowered his arm around my shoulder and led me back to our table where he sat down without further ado. "Okay," he turned to Brynjolf, "what do you say, _thief_? As much as it hurts to admit, it seems I need your help if I wanna make the Dragonborn a respectable woman. Do you accept the honour to attend our wedding?"

He didn't look _hurt_. Not at all, quite the contrary. He was wary, and he certainly didn't trust our hosts entirely, but he was still able to appreciate the situation as what it was - something hilariously screwballed.

Brynjolf smirked openly at Farkas. "You know, _Companion_, honour isn't exactly our core competence. Not like it's yours. But now that you're here, I feel a certain… responsibility for the lass. I'll be at your disposal if you convince me that you're the right man for her."

"Brynjolf, please!" My consternation only coaxed another laughter from the redhead, but Farkas just relaxed in his chair and sipped at his mead, his gaze strictly on his vis-à-vis, and I had the distinct feeling that something was going on between the two men. Some kind of communication that went beyond words. Something… male. Creepy.

"If her word isn't enough… see, it has taken me months to convince _her_. No idea how to convince _you_ now in a matter of hours."

"Well, that's a start. At least you're persistent. You're gonna need it."

"Brynjolf?" My voice was dangerously calm.

"Aye, lass?"

"How often have we met so far?"

He thought for a moment. "Once, as far as I remember."

"Exactly," I scowled, "and what gives you the idea _you _know what _he's_ gonna need?"

He raised both hands. "I think I know you good enough, lass. Or you wouldn't be here now."

"No, you don't," I huffed, "so stop pretending, okay? Don't forget, this is supposed to be a _deal_." My gaze wandered over to Sapphire who stood at the bar, glaring at us.

The smirk the redhead shot me was taunting, but Farkas wasn't as easy to unnerve as I. In fact, he seemed… far too consent with this conversation and where it was leading. "But he's right," he said calmly, "no one knows better than me how stubborn you are." He turned to Brynjolf. "You wanna know what happened when I proposed to her?"

That was going too far. Far too far. I rammed my elbow into his ribs, and he jerked away with a surprised yelp. Not that it hurt him through the cuirass, though. "Be careful what you spout off, or you can marry _him _tomorrow," I said between gritted teeth. And pointing a finger at Brynjolf, I added, "and you stop acting like my father! By Ysmir, this is ridiculous!"

Both men looked decidedly innocent. "But we're just getting a little acquainted, lass." Brynjolf's pout couldn't hide his amusement.

"Exactly. I just wanna know who's by my side on the most important day of my life." Puppy-eyes! He dared to show me his puppy-eyes now!

"May I remind you that he hasn't even accepted that _honour_ yet?" I glared at them, the thief and the Companion, two men who _should_ be like cat and dog. If anything, this encounter _should _have takenplace with drawn weapons between them, not with tankards which were empty in the meantime. I expected hostility and suspiciousness, not this… creepy camaraderie. What in Oblivion was going on here?

Brynjolf finally crossed the line when he reached over and patted my cheek with a slack, leathergloved hand. "I just need a little more persuasion. How about you let us talk and get us some fresh drinks?"

He caught the slap aimed at his face midstrike, as if he had expected it, and burst into a mischievous laughter. His iron grip pulled me half over the table, my face red and hot with fury and embarrassment.

"Is she always so fiery?"

Farkas watched the scene seemingly entirely unimpressed. "No. Sometimes she sleeps."

This was enough. I broke away with a jerk, took a deep breath and forced my expression with conscious effort into a twisted smile. "Okay, guys, I'm able to admit when I made a mistake. From my side, this _deal_ just died." I turned to Farkas. "And you either come with me and help me kidnap someone, or you can find someone else for tomorrow. Sapphire seemed quite… attached to you earlier."

The sudden discomfort on Brynjolf's features was just a short triumph, though. A heavy arm slung around my waist before I even turned away completely, and Farkas pulled me against my struggling resistance into his lap, locking my wrists in a gentle grip.

"Relax, girl," he mumbled into my ear. "That guy likes you, and I think he starts to like me too. You really think I'm gonna make him jealous with things that's not his business?"

"And that's reason enough to humiliate me like that?" I hissed, pushing against his breastplate. With meagre success.

"You don't need me to defend yourself," he chuckled, "and you're too cute when you're so mad." I could feel his smirk against the skin of my neck before he lifted me like a puppet off his knees and back onto the chair beside him. "I'm gonna get the drinks, okay?"

"I'm _not_ cute!" I yelled after him, still furious and unconcerned of the people around us. He just shot me a boyish grin over his shoulder, and suddenly I couldn't be angry any more. If anyone was cute, it was him.

Farkas looked entirely out of place, but by no means awkward between all the thieves when he made his way through the tavern and addressed the barkeeper. It was fascinating, his ability to make himself comfortable wherever he came. He simply knew when he could afford to let his guard down, even if it was in a den of thieves. And what surprised me even more was his laidback way to deal with these people, to get intuitively at their good side. At the moment, he was definitely more relaxed than I.

"Lass?" Brynjolf's voice got me out of my thoughts. "Did he really call you cute? And you let him live?"

"Oh, he knows my revenge will be horrible," I giggled, and the thief joined in my laughter.

"I like him, you know. Not quite what I expected from a Companion." His low chuckle was bare of any mischief now.

I laughed. "Jorrvaskr is a_ mead hall_, Bryn. What do you think we're doing all day long, save maidens from bandits, polish our swords and wait for Ysgramor to give his orders from Sovngarde?"

He tilted his head. "Well… yes. Something like that, I suppose."

"Yeah, that's the crux with legends. We may be thousands of years old, and we may not take some jobs other mercenaries would do without thinking, but we're not _dead_."

"No, you're certainly not, and neither is he." He pointed at Farkas. "And the way you look at him… I think we'll have a fine wedding tomorrow." His smile was broad and genuine.

"Thank you, Bryn," I said relieved, "just promise you won't tell anyone."

He grinned. "Even if I wanted, who would believe a thief?" He raised his hand. "I promise, your little secret won't leave this room."


	2. Wed

Blasted thieves and their blasted mead - or however they called the concoction they had served us.

I bolted awake with the first light streaming through the window of our room, a throbbing pain in my head and a disgusting, sour taste in my mouth. I felt sore all over, muscles taut and aching. Only the thought of breakfast let me choke.

Gods, and this was supposed to be my wedding day?

And Farkas slept peacefully, his light snore completely undisturbed.

I shook him, gently at first, but when he pushed my hand away and turned to the other side just to resume his deep breathing, I poked him with more determination. Finally he jerked away, grunted annoyed and caught my hand, rolling to his back. A single eye slipped open.

"What's the matter, Qhouri?"

"We got to get up!"

His view turned lazily to the window, then he shook his head. "The sun's barely up. We've got tons of time."

"But…"

"No but," he grunted and drew the blanket back up to his chin.

I sat at the edge of the bed and stared at him. I'd stare at him until he deigned to notice me. The nerve this man had!

Finally and without opening an eye he lifted the covers, pulled me on top of him and drew them up again. "Sleep. Too late to get nervous now." A small smile quirked the corners of his mouth as his arms closed around me.

He had no idea.

It was a shallow doze at best I forced myself into, with people, names and faces racing in unsorted pictures through my mind. I wished anyone was here – Athis, or Aela, anyone of my siblings, anyone I'd call friend. So many people who should share this day with us.

But it were just the two of us. It had to be enough. It would always be enough.

"Why are you so fidgety?" His sleepy voice startled me.

"Aren't you nervous? At least a bit?"

His eyes opened hesitantly. "No. Must be a bride thing." He chuckled lowly, and his good mood was infectious. "Relax, girl. You're just getting married." Warm hands stroked in long, soothing motions along my back.

"Tell me something. Anything." I just wanted to lie there, on top of him, engulfed by his warmth and with the vibrations of his voice under my ear. But he remained quiet, and I already thought he fell asleep again if it weren't for those wandering fingertips.

"Farkas?"

"You remember when we were in Morthal for the first time?"

"Sure. It was horrible."

He chuckled. "Aye, it was. But when I introduced you to Jonna… you could barely move with your cricked shoulder… I'll never forget how you yelled at her. How you told her that you absolutely don't care whom I marry and what I do with my life and that you only need me for the dragons, and that she should get lost with her stupid jealousy, and that we're just friends. You were glorious, and I just wanted to crawl under a rock and die."

I propped my chin on the back of my hand. "No, I was angry. You were such morons, both of you. And we were just friends. We only knew each other for a few weeks then."

"Long enough. Lots of moments to make you precious to me. That was when I knew that I wanted you to care."

"You're still my best friend. How many women are so lucky to marry their best friend?"

"See, and that's why there's no reason to be nervous."

He could talk. But his calmness soothed and reassured me as well. There was no reason to be nervous. Everything would go well, and tonight we'd be husband and wife and nothing would have really changed.

I couldn't suppress a small chuckle. "Perhaps I'm just afraid that Brynjolf pilfers the temple's giftbox."

"He won't dare it," Farkas growled. "I'd kill him."

"You made quite the impression on him, you know?"

"Hopefully enough to make him behave." His hands stopped their motions over my back, and he bit his lip. "Qhouri... I have something for you. A gift. But I'm not sure if you want it."

I lifted my head. "A gift? What is it?"

He rolled to the side and released me from his embrace, an insecure smile on his face. "I don't know. It's from Vilkas."

All of a sudden, the air in the room was too hot and stale to breathe. All my nervousness and excitement, all the anticipation for this day was spoiled and darkened by these words.

A wedding gift from Vilkas. Something I needed like a hole in the head. I turned to my back and stared at the ceiling.

"You don't want it," Farkas said lowly.

My head spun around. "Of course I don't! You expect me to be grateful?" I narrowed my eyes. "How does he even know that we marry?"

"He doesn't. I just told him that I'd ask you. Mainly to annoy him," he said with a sheepish expression. "But when I left Skyhaven, he gave it to me. And he said he wishes us luck."

"Us? Or you?"

"Us."

"Yeah, and next you'll tell me that he's happy for us." I snorted in annoyance. What an utter bullshit. All he wanted was to retain his grip on his brother, even if it meant that he had to deal with me. Only that I didn't want to deal with him.

Why did this man have to worm his way back into my life over and over again, even now, on this day that should have been ours alone? It was a stupid question, and I had always known the answer. Because tonight, he would be my brother-in-law.

"I shouldn't have taken it." Sadness stood in his eyes.

I let out a long breath and rubbed my palm over my face. I felt angry and pressed, but I was also unable to stand this expression on his face. "I get it, Farkas. He wants to share in your life. But he doesn't have to get through me to get to you. I just want him to leave me alone."

He nodded slowly. "I'm sorry, Qhouri. I'm sure he meant no harm... but I shouldn't have brought it up. At least not now." He touched my cheek with a tentative gesture. "Forget it, okay? Today should be about us. Nothing else."

I gave him a feeble smile. "And it is, because no one else is here."

He kissed me softly. "You are here. That's enough."

"I'm still nervous, you know?"

"Better nervous than angry."

"I'm not angry." I tugged at his hand. "Come here. Tell me about Morthal."

"When we left there... you were angry too. And I felt like an oaf."

"Yeah. And then you told me that I'm not your type. It was... perfect."

"Well, you aren't. Didn't help with falling in love with you, though."

"But you are my type."

"I am? Didn't think you had something like a type."

"I didn't, till I met you."

"You were _afraid_ of me when we first met."

"I like scary men."

"Just because you're scary yourself."

A loud knock on the door disturbed us, and Farkas got up to open it. "Your bath, Sir!" A heavily breathing and sweating man dragged a bathtub into the room, two little boys following him with buckets full of steaming hot water. They looked curiously at me as I lay hidden under the blankets and the half-naked man waiting for them to finish their preparations. The man shooed them out of the door with an embarrassed smile.

Farkas turned to me as soon as the door had closed, clapping into his hands, a broad grin on his face. "Up with you, woman, stop dawdling! Gods, you have an idea how late it is already?"

_Bastard._

* * *

That priest was insufferable. At first his face crunched into a derisive scowl because we dared to come to his temple in our armours. But I didn't want to wear a dress, and we had had no opportunity to buy something special anyway. But our dragon armours were by far the most exclusive garment we possessed, we were comfortable in them, and they matched each other - so we decided to wear them. Then his lips curled into an indignant sneer when he saw whom we brought as our witnesses. At least the thieves were on time, they were sober, had bathed and came in simple civilian outfits.

And now he insisted that someone had to lead me from the door to the altar and deliver me to the groom, preferably my father. Because that was the custom, and there were certain procedures that had to be observed.

Stupid rules, stupid customs and stupid procedures. Brynjolf volunteered with a smug grin to fulfil the deed, but I outright refused. No way. This was ridiculous.

"Can't we just... dunno, walk to the altar together? Or start the whole thing here? I mean, is it really so important?"

The priest's lips were pressed into a firm line. He shook his head. "No. You have to be separated before I can unite you in Mara's grace." I had a hard time not to yell at him. I just wanted to get married, why did he have to make it as difficult as possible?

"Don't be so cranky, Qhouri," came a voice from the entrance. "Just let me do it and let's get over with this."

I turned, slow, incredulous and simultaneously with Farkas. "Athis?" we asked in unison.

The mer wore neat black leather pants, an immaculate white shirt and the broadest smile he could muster. "A little bird told me that something was gonna happen here today that I shouldn't miss."

I sprinted down the aisle with a squeal and caught him in a tight hug. Gods, I was so happy to see him. "Don't be mad, but I just had to come. But I told no one else," he whispered.

"Do I look as if I'm mad?" I whispered back.

"Let me guess," Farkas' amused voice came from behind me, "that bird wasn't so little at all, and it had scales instead of feathers."

Athis shot him a grin over my shoulder. "Perhaps you're right. Or not." The smile he gave me was warm. "No. You look happy. I'm glad I came in time."

"Will you do it? Just to shut him up?" The priest watched us with a miffed expression.

"Of course. Who are these guys?" He gave Farkas an amicable pat and nodded a greeting towards the thieves.

"Brynjolf and Rune. We needed two witnesses, and they volunteered." I turned to them. "This is Athis, a shield-brothers of ours."

"_That_ Brynjolf and Rune?" Athis asked astonished.

"Yeah."

Brynjolf arched an eyebrow at the mer. "What do you mean?"

Athis grinned mischievously. "Her adventure in the Ratway is a tale well known in Jorrvaskr. You two left quite the impression."

Farkas chuckled lowly, but Brynjolf looked as if he wasn't sure if it was meant as a compliment or more as an insult. Rune gave him his typical light-hearted smile. "That impression was mutual." Somehow I had the feeling that Athis would fit even better into the Ragged Flagon than Farkas.

The impatient harrumph of the priest interrupted us. "Can we start now?"

I gave him a beaming smile. "Yeah, we can."

The ceremony was gratefully short and went by in a haze of nervousness, nausea and bliss.

The thieves took place in the foremost bench, and I followed Athis out of the temple. Outside, he slung his arms around my waist. "Nervous?"

I gave him a feeble grin. "Yeah. I'm so glad you're here, Athis."

"Wouldn't have missed it for the world." He pecked me on the cheek. "I'm happy for you, Qhouri. And I know you two are happy together."

He offered me his arm and opened the door, and as soon as we had entered, all nervousness was forgotten. Athis' presence beside me was soothing, but my gaze was caught by the face of the man in front of the altar, by the unveiled love and happiness in his smile that was only for me. Farkas took my hand when we had reached him and squeezed my fingers reassuringly, and his palm was warm and dry.

The priest repeated some of the solemn sentences we had already heard the day before, but I didn't listen anyway. My eyes were fixed on the statue of the goddess behind the altar, that beautiful woman with the loving gaze who held her arms open for and over everybody bidding for her blessing.

I bid for her blessing and her protection, from the bottom of my heart.

"... in this life and the next, in prosperity and poverty, and in joy and hardship …"

"I do. Now and forever." Farkas' deep voice was thick with emotion, full of the confidence and certainty that had carried us so far.

"Do you agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever?"

"I do. Now and forever." I heard my own words like those of a stranger, firm and determined.

I never agreed more to anything in my life. Especially when two huge hands closed around my waist while the priest still spoke on, lifting me off my feet, and a mouth came over mine so forceful and tender as if it wanted to melt into my lips. "Gods, how I love you," I whispered into his kiss, and he laughed and veered me around, and then he let me down and I kissed him again until that obnoxious priest interrupted us.

"The rings. Please. Just take the rings."

We took them and slipped them on our fingers with even more laughter and a lot of fumbling because we both couldn't take our eyes off the sheer happiness in the other's face, and all five of us signed the document for the temple's archive so no one could claim this didn't happen.

Friend, lover, mate and husband. Now and forever.

Originally we had planned to invite Brynjolf and Rune to a meal and a few drinks at the Bee and Barb, but the thieves had different plans - when we left the temple, they led us without further ado to the graveyard. We tried to object, but when they invited Athis explicitly to join in – as if I had ever left him out of anything on this day – and the mer had that curious gleam in his eyes that he usually only got when he was about to explore a new ruin or cave, I knew it was inevitable to let the thieves have their way with us. Brynjolf said something about the Thieves Guild hosting the wedding of the Dragonborn was exactly the push their Lady Luck needed to come back to them, and that they'd not let us go without having a few drinks with them. And that the preparations were already done anyway.

Of course it wasn't done with a few drinks.

"Okay, guys 'n' gals," Brynjolf's voice rose over the chatter in the Ragged Flagon where he had gathered his fellows, "gimme a moment, please." He pointed with a wide gesture at us and grinned at my uncomfortable expression. "Some of you know the Dragonborn already. The lass once freed us from the Thalmor pest,"

"Only with Rune's help!" I interfered, but he beckoned me not to interrupt him.

"and now she came back because she needed assistance in a more… delicate matter. Some of you also have already met that impressive lad beside her, yesterday he was so kind not to kill our Sapphire when she… tried to relieve him of some of his burdens. Since about twenty minutes these two are a married couple, and the participation of the Thieves Guild, represented by Rune and yours truly, was crucial to get this wedding done."

Loud clapping and shouting was the answer to this announcement, and Brynjolf ignored deliberately the daggers I glared at him. He had promised!

The thief asked for silence once more.

"We have the fine tradition to celebrate a job well done, but had far too few opportunities recently to follow this tradition. And as this was a job very well done, it's just right and proper we celebrate this occasion before we let her go to save the world again. What d'ya say?"

A roaring cheer was his answer.

I discovered soon that the Thieves Guild had some remarkable similarities with the Companions. They lived together, worked together and behaved generally like I knew it from my siblings. Like a family. And they never missed a chance to tap a barrel and party together. Any reason was good enough, even if it was the wedding of some strangers.

But before they started to gather around us for the obligatory congratulations, I had to take Brynjolf to task.

"You promised not to tell anybody!"

The thief grinned very complacently. "First, lass, _anybody_ never includes your own family. I'm sure you know how that works. And second, if I remember correctly, I just promised your little secret wouldn't leave this room. And it hasn't."

I was speechless. What a rascal! But it was impossible to be angry at this honest, charming smile when he embraced me in a bearlike hug. "This isn't part of the deal any more," he said warmly, "just have a good time, okay?"

The thieves were an odd bunch of people, many strange names that could only be made up, most of them congratulating us honestly but obviously more interested in getting their share of the free mead and the venison roast they had prepared. Even Sapphire forced half a smile on her face when I offered her a hand.

But we had a lot of fun, although it was weird to be with so many strangers on this day. We didn't need words to know that we both felt the same. That we both would have preferred to be in Jorrvaskr now and that we wanted to be alone as soon as possible.

I had been right about Athis, though. He blended into the crowd as if he belonged there. Brynjolf gave me a crooked grin as we watched him in the middle of a group of thieves, recounting our fight through Forelhost.

"As I can't have you, perhaps I'll try to poach him," the redhead said.

"He would make an awesome thief. Much better than me," I chuckled. "But you can't have him. He is ours."

"Why not? Look at them. Even Sapphire is falling for him."

It was true, the young woman hang fascinated on his every word.

"No one knows how to deal with feisty Nord women like our Athis," Farkas snickered good-naturedly, and I had to laugh out loud. No, I didn't want Sapphire and Njada to meet. That would really end in disaster.

I was just busy explaining to Rune and an elder Breton named Delvin that we really planned to spend our honeymoon in a cosy little Dwemer ruin near Winterhold when Farkas approached us.

"'Cuse me, but I need my wife for a moment," he said with an irresistible smile before he drew me into a niche and claimed my mouth with so much ferocity I felt my knees go weak. "I wanna go. Now."

A fabulous idea. "Let's just sneak off. They'll appreciate it."

Of course it didn't work, but the laughter we got when we were caught and exclaimed innocently that we just needed some fresh air was friendly. Athis slung his arms around our shoulders. "Good luck in Blackreach. Be careful, okay?"

Farkas nodded, and I pulled the mer close. "Thanks for coming, Athis. With you... it was perfect."

"A pleasure, sister. Stay safe."

It was still early in the evening, and despite the damp, foul atmosphere in the city, the sunset over Lake Honrich was beautiful. The mist in the air was glowing, the low sunrays reflecting on the low hanging clouds and on the quiet surface of the water. We made our way out of the city to the docks where we settled with our backs against the warm wooden wall of a boathouse.

He was surprised when I handed him a package.

"What's that?"

"A gift for us both," I said with a light smile. "Open it."

The small casket was wrapped in cloth, and Farkas took out its contents with confusion in his eyes. "A key?"

I leant relaxed against him. "For Breezehome. The cottage next to Warmaidens. I bought it."

He was quiet, just looked down on me with bright, astonished eyes, but a heavy arm came around my shoulder and pulled me against his chest.

"But you didn't want it."

My fingers tangled with his. "No, but you did. And… perhaps the idea isn't as silly as I thought."

The sun had nearly vanished beneath the horizon when he spoke again, the sky over us already a velvety purple. "So… you think we're gonna live there some day? And tend to the garden?"

"_You_ will tend to the garden, love," I said teasingly, "while I train the whelps in Jorrvaskr or go drinking with Athis and Torvar. And in the evening, you will cook for me."

"How about I teach you to cook?" he said with a quirked grin, but then he fell silent again. "I'd like to go home now." There was a longing in his voice that made clear that he didn't mean our room at the inn.

"Nobody spends his honeymoon at home," I said with chuckle, "and it's neither fully paid off nor completely furnished yet. Oh, and your wife is broke now."

His smiling face bent down to me. "Are you saying you're a bad catch?"

"Yeah, sort of. Sorry for not telling you earlier."

He rose with a laughter and offered me a hand, just to swoop me up into his arms when I stood, one arm under my knees, the other around my shoulders. "Doesn't matter. You've married the happiest, richest man in all of Tamriel, wife. And he has all his luck and his wealth right here."

And with that he carried me through the gate, past the ogling guards, over the market place and through the inn, curious glances and a few whistles following us. I hid my giggle in the crook of his neck. He stopped in front of the door to our room and pushed it open.

"This is how it's done correctly, isn't it?" he asked with a strange little smile, and his lips closed over mine when he entered and kicked the door shut behind him, my arms clinging around his neck.

He leant with his back against the wall when he let met down, his arms around my waist. "You're really my wife now," he said with a quiet, incredulous laughter. "I can't believe it yet."

"And you're my husband." I threaded my fingers through his hair. "Thank you."

"What for? That I married you? If I remember correctly, I had to talk you into this."

"For your love and your patience. For everything you taught me. And for this wonderful day."

"I'm thankful for every day we have together, Qhouri. And today... it wasn't quite like I imagined, but it was perfect."

"I'm glad you're not mad. That I told Athis."

He gave me a gentle smile. "I know what he means to you."

Yeah. I loved all of my siblings, every single one of them in a unique way. But Athis had been the first. The first to take me in, the first to believe in me, the first who gave me the feeling that I belonged to them. He had a very special place in my heart.

Perhaps he was for me what Vilkas was for my husband. Only that Athis had shared this day with us, and Vilkas hadn't.

"There's something still waiting for you," I said calmly, stroking his neck. "Another gift."

Astonishment flared over his face. "You mean...?"

"Yeah. You should open it."

He watched me from wide eyes, but then he went to his pack, reached inside and fished out a small, simple leather pouch.

He let it rest on his palm. "It's for us both, Qhouri."

"You wanna know what it is?"

He nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on my face.

"Then open it."

He sat down at the small table, his back to me, and fumbled with the knot. When he turned it over, something fell with a dull clank on the tabletop, and he let out a surprised hiss.

I stepped behind him and looked over his shoulder. My eyes grew wide.

It was an amulet, a disk half the size of my palm, made from dragonbone that was polished to shimmering alabaster. A dragon was carved into the front, the lines blackened with ash – the beast was depicted in a half-profile as if it was flying towards us, neck stretched and maw wide open, fangs, tongue and scales clearly discernible, caught masterfully in the moment before it released a Shout. The wings were spread wide and protruded from the smooth curve of the amulet's edge.

And only when Farkas turned it around, I saw that it was divided in halves, a smooth, wavy cut that was barely visible when the parts were held together.

The backside was adorned with another relief – two wolves, both shown in profile, with bristled manes, heads thrown back and jaws wide open, so life-like that I thought I could hear their howls. What formed the wings of the dragon on one side were the wolves' heads on the other.

Farkas caressed the edge with the pad of his index and looked up to me.

It was beautiful. A true work of art. That something like this, something so precious and fitting for us came from Vilkas' mind and from his hands… that he made such an effort, that he even bothered… I swallowed heavily.

"It's amazing," I whispered full of awe.

"He must have made it during his watch turns."

"When he was supposed to watch over you?"

"Yeah." A small smile quirked his lips. "He means no harm, Qhouri. I think... he just wanted to do something nice."

I didn't believe that it was so easy. Vilkas wouldn't just do something nice, not without second thoughts and especially not for me. But this wasn't the moment to ponder his motives.

I took one of the halves in my hand and threaded the thin, braided leather band Vilkas had enclosed through the little hole at the top. The material was warm to the touch. But when I wanted to fasten it around Farkas' neck, he took my wrist and stopped me.

He took the amulet from my hand, put it away and pulled me into his lap. "This day was perfect, love. With Athis and the thieves... and all these gifts." He palmed my cheek, so much love in his eyes that it made me choke. "But it's not what matters. What matters is that you're my wife. Just you and me."

I took his hand and laid my palm against his. The rings shimmered in the candle-light. He was right. For the moment, nothing mattered – not Vilkas, not Alduin, not Blackreach and the Scroll, not the thieves down in their sewers or the tantrum the Companions would throw when they got to know about our wedding.

When I claimed his mouth, I could taste his love and his longing, and I could feel him pull his barriers away, how he let me in and reached out for me.

He pressed his lips to mine and I felt his hands in my hair, tug and remove the leather strips that held my braids, his fingers raking carefully through them until he had them untangled. Only when his hands came down and started to open the straps of my pauldrons, he broke the kiss and leant his forehead against mine. "You're no warrior tonight," he whispered. "No Dragonborn, no beast, no Companion. Just my wife. My beautiful, wonderful wife."

"And this night won't be spoiled," I said with a small smile, busying myself eagerly with the buckles of his armour.

"No." His eyes darkened. "Tonight you're mine. And I am yours."

* * *

The following week was perhaps the happiest of my life.

We were on our way to Alftand, but we took our time on our way north, enjoying our improvised honeymoon travelling criss-cross through the Rift. The weather was stable, and although the nights were already noticeably colder than at summer's peak, we savoured to be out again, unbound and free, caring for nothing and nobody but ourselves. We spent a few days in a secluded place at the hot springs, and nothing disturbed us – no dragon, no bandits, nothing. And when the weather changed and it became rainy and uncomfortable outside, we relocated into the peaceful shelter of the Eldergleam Sanctuary, into the endless spring under the magnificent tree.

And Farkas made good on his promise to take me to an Orsimer stronghold. Narzulbur wasn't far from Windhelm, but it lay so secluded up in the mountains that formed the natural border to Morrowind that nobody would ever travel there accidentally. Farkas knew the chieftain, he had received the honour of being called blood-kin by him, and he was certain they'd let us stay even if I was a stranger to them.

He was wrong. Narzulbur was a small stronghold, only about a dozen people living in the longhouse and working in the affiliated mine where they digged for the special metal their famous, vicious looking armours and weapons were made of. But Chief Mauhulakh was a proud warrior, although he was stricken by fate, having lost four wives to death. He mourned his wives, he mourned his solitude, and he waited for the day his son would challenge him and take his place as head of the tribe.

But until then, he'd hold on to the old ways of the Orsimer, and that meant that no stranger was granted access to the stronghold, even if it was the wife of a friend. He was friendly to us, even openly pleased to see Farkas, he provided us with supplies and joined us in the evening for friendly banter and exchange of news, but he didn't let us enter.

Not that I really minded. The prospect to sleep in one big room with a dozen strangers wasn't exactly thrilling.

But Mauhulakh eyed me curiously over the small fire we had built in the shelter of the palisades.

"You chose well if she earned those dragonscales herself, friend," the Orsimer said casually to Farkas. I had to grin over the bluntness of his quick judgement, but Farkas just lifted an eyebrow.

"She's a warrior and a Companion like me. We're equal."

I wasn't sure if he was aware that by stressing my assets he mostly raised his own reputation, given that in this society only the chieftain was allowed to have wives and daughters were given away like a prize to whoever their father chose for them.

But Mauhulakh just chuckled amused. "Oh, you and your human way of courting," and Farkas gave him a grin that eased the light tension. The men obviously understood each other.

The Orsimer turned to me. At least it didn't seem unbeseeming to speak freely with him.

"Would you like to do me a favour, Companion?" he asked with a strange smile.

What a weird question. Of course I could do him a favour, if he needed my help. But he'd have to ask me, not the other way around.

Only Farkas' broad grin brought me onto the right track. This was his way to invite us into his home!

I couldn't suppress a smirk. "Is there anything I can do for you, Chieftain?"

Now he smiled openly. "Actually, there is. Gloombound mine is prosperous, but we're looking to expand. My son Dushnamub, our blacksmith, recently went out to explore a nearby cave as a possible prospecting site. But during his exploration he met some opposition and lost his lucky gauntlet, a gauntlet he claims that it heightens his skills. He's been mostly useless since this incident, the armours he makes not even worth to be sold to the Stormcloaks in Windhelm. Would you be so kind to retrieve this gauntlet for us?"

Get a gauntlet out of a cave? That couldn't be so hard.

"It's an honour that you entrust me with this task, Chieftain," I said, Farkas nodding approvingly. "I'll see to it tomorrow."

The cave was less than an hour's march away from the stronghold, it was tiny and inhabited just by an old, crinkled, lonely mage and his pet atronach. How the unlucky blacksmith was able not to kill him escaped me, because the wizard attacked me on sight. I adjusted this lapse for him. The gauntlet in question - it had to be right one, why would anybody else lose a single gauntlet? - was made of sabrecat leather and studded with plates of orichalcum, the greenish metal that somewhat resembled the scales of my own gear. I found it in a chest that wasn't even locked.

I didn't know what to make of the simplicity of this task. If the chieftain thought I was just a girl he had to do a favour, this was an affront not only for me, but also for Farkas, the outsider he called brother. But perhaps this whole blood-kin thing was essentially not much more than a formality - his pride didn't allow to let us enter his Stronghold the day before, but perhaps he just didn't want to make it harder than necessary.

But he shouldn't have sent me away at all. It wasn't even midday when I came back, and the columns of thick, black smoke rising from the wooden palisade and watchtowers were visible from far away. I fell into a frenzied sprint when I saw the dragon swoop down the slope of the mountains above the longhouse, his fiery blast hitting the buildings with frightening accuracy.

The fence and the huge tent that sheltered the forge was already burning at several places, as well as the frail rope bridge that led over the chasm between the longhouse and the mine, the smouldering remains separating the few warriors and the miners. The latter were running around frantically in front of the dark opening into the mountain, unarmoured and armed only with their pickaxes but fiercely determined to bring down the dragon with the little means they had.

It was horrible to watch the devastation the beast caused from afar, how it circled tightly above the stronghold, how it carried away a man in his claws, to see a person fall from a collapsing watchtower with wildly flailing arms, to hear the screams and smell the stench of burning wood, leather and flesh.

When I arrived on the scene, the dragon sat on the rocky ledge in front of the mine, his long neck swinging back and forth, unreachable over the abyss the destroyed bridge had spanned. Bodies lay in front of him and between the smouldering remains of the forge, and I just hoped the surviving miners had sought shelter in the cave. A few warriors, Farkas amongst them, stood on the edge and tried to harm him with their arrows, constantly on the watch for his deadly blast.

They would not be able to kill him like this, and the longhouse was probably lost if the dragon took off again.

I rushed through the gate, not caring any more for permissions, dropped everything I carried but Dragonbane and my shield and made my way to the fighters, handing my quiver to Farkas.

"Keep firing, try to distract him. I've got to get close without getting roasted."

No time for explanations, Farkas just nodded and made room. I made a few steps back and took a run-up towards the edge, saw speechless faces fly by, still wondering if the power of my Thu'um would suffice to carry me over the chasm when I already jumped and shouted

"WULD",

and I landed hard and with a cry in the heap of the collapsed and still burning forge tent, ducking and rolling towards the cliff that separated me from the mine.

The Divines bless Eorlund for this armour. Although I rolled through licking flames, the scales didn't even feel warm. They wouldn't help against real dragonfire, though.

The dragon must have seen me coming, but the only sounds I heard for the next moments were the gasps and yells from the other side. As soon as I left the shelter of the ledge, the beast would be able to reach me with its blast

But I had to find a way up.

"Keep firing," a familiar voice finally roared, and I heard not only the whizzing of arrows, but also the dragon sucking in air for his next attack. This was my chance.

There were only two possibilities. Either I took the main ramp along the edge up to the mine entrance where the dragon would see me at one and risked that he simply shouted me down into the cleft. Or I tried to climb the ledge on the other side to get into his back. If he didn't notice me and I was very, very lucky, perhaps I'd even be able to surprise him from behind while he was still focused on the enemies pincushioning him - not very probable, but still worth a try.

As soon as I saw the blast shoot towards the archers, I crawled along the wall and made my way to the far side of the forging area. There was a way upwards - not really a path, more a route of protrusions I'd perhaps be able to use if they held my weight, if I didn't slip and most importantly if the dragon didn't notice me. I'd have to use all available limbs, no way to defend myself while I hang in there.

With a sigh I started my climb, pressed tightly to the wall, trying to be as quiet as possible. When I finally drew myself onto the remains of a rotten wooden walkway, I was panting heavily, the muscles in my shoulders, thighs and fingers burning, and the dragon greeted me with a friendly grin, lying flat on his belly, the long neck stretched towards me. The stench of his breath was suffocating. He had awaited me.

Now I knew what the frantic yelling was all about that I had so desperately tried to ignore.

We stared at each other for an endless moment while I slowly rose to my knees. Time always seemed to stand still in the presence of one of these mighty beings, when they recognised me and locked their souls into mine.

"FUS RO DAH!"

We shouted at the same time, his blast against my force. The fire streamed around me only for a second as I cowered behind my shield, it scorched my braids and blistered my exposed face, the steelen crosspieces and the chainmail of my armour heating up, but the dragon scales absorbed the worst of the impact. The Divines bless Eorlund.

It wasn't possible to move a dragon with this shout, they were simply too large, but it's possible to stagger, distract and interrupt them. His neck jerked back and up, his blast diverted harmlessly against the mountainside, and the beast staggered on his hind legs.

I used my chance and started my favourite attack against a dragon in his situation - climb him. The hind legs made an excellent ladder, and once I was up and on his back, the spikes along his spine served as fabulous grips on the way towards his front end. Not that this way was easy - usually a dragon wasn't exactly thrilled about a mortal scrambling along him. The fangs at the end of the long, flexible neck were still the biggest danger, as well as the possibility that he tried to take off, although this could be countered by severing the joints of his wings while I passed them. But once it was possible to reach the neck and especially the connection between neck and skull where the scales were easy to pierce, the dragon was as good as dead.

I made it, desperately clinging to the spikes on his back, all bones in my body rattling from his efforts to throw me off and without someone else distracting the beast - that would have been Farkas' job, but the archers had ceased fire out of fear to hit me. Dragonbane's slim blade slipped between and under the scales, severed tendons and sinews, its tip piercing the skullcap without much effort. The last exhale of the beast was a shrieking roar before he collapsed, and when the corpse started to dissolve, I fell more than jumped off to the ground.

But I had been too late, and the devastation was indescribable.

Too many were dead. Three of the miners, their bodies nearly unidentifiable. Two of the hunters and a little girl, Mauhulakh's daughter from his latest wife. And Dushnamub, his son, the blacksmith I retrieved the blasted gauntlet for. If I hadn't been on this useless trip, perhaps I would have been able to save them. Some of them, at least.

Mauhulakh was a broken man, kneeling over the corpse of his son, his olive skin paled to a greyish yellow under the smeared layers of ash and sweat, his lips bared over the fangs into a contorted expression of grief. It was his mother who had taken charge for the moment, who cared for the injured and sent out a group to retrieve the corpses of the miners. I met them on my way down the mountain and around the stronghold, and they greeted me with awe, respect and sorrow in their faces.

Farkas waited for me at the gate, the wise woman beside him, a healing potion ready. It was heavenly to feel the blisters on my neck recede, but when I took in the chaos around me, I felt a sting of guilt not to be hurt more severely.

It wasn't fair.

The old woman held herself demonstratively straight, nearly stiff, determination surpassing the sorrow in her face. But I smelled the despair she wouldn't allow to break through.

"We are in your debt, Dragonborn." Her tone was formal.

I shook my head. "No. I just did what I had to. And I was too late."

The woman faltered slightly. Perhaps she agreed. "We… we will go on. Somehow. Build again what has been destroyed. My son will take another wife."

"Yes. Yes, I suppose you will." I clenched my teeth, the hopelessness in her voice making me cringe.

The woman stared at my face. "We will send word to the other strongholds, Dragonborn. You will be welcome." She vanished into the longhouse without another word.

These people were doomed. They were too few, too secluded, too strict in following their old traditions in a world where dragons and a civil war already scratched on their doormat. If they didn't bend with the storm, it would break them, but I had the feeling these people would never bend. They'd rather perish like they had lived, proud and unyielding, than adapt to a changing world.

If the chieftain had just swallowed his stupid pride, I would have been here when it mattered.

But I didn't have the right to tell them how to live. I turned to Farkas, already adjusting the straps of my pack.

"Let's go."

"What, now? At once? Can't we… help?" He beckoned a wide gesture over the destructed site.

I turned to him sharply. "What do you wanna help? Are you a healer? Help to rebuild a forge they don't have a smith for? Help to prepare the dead? I doubt we'd be allowed to attend their burial rites. I really doubt they want us here, now."

He looked so helpless, his eyes on the chieftain who still knelt beside the scorched corpse of his son. "But… I thought…"

I put a hand on his forearm. "He's not your friend, Farkas. He tolerates you. Perhaps he even respects you. But he'd never turn to you for help or advice, no matter what happens. And you can't force him."

The only help we could offer these people - and dozens of similar settlements in Skyrim full of people who were helpless when death came swooping down on them - was to do what we set out for originally. Go and find the Elder Scroll, learn Dragonrend and kill Alduin.

Seeing the old mer on his knees, the burnt buildings and dead bodies, it didn't matter any more what happened to me, what danger waited ahead, what risks I had to take. My only duty was to survive until the World-Eater was dead.

Farkas saw the new determination in my face, and he understood what it meant. I already made the first steps down the mountain when I felt a gentle grip around my wrist. He pulled me without a word against his chest, his arms closing around me in a silent offer of comfort, and only released me when he felt me relax, a sad, small smile on his face.

It did matter what happened to me - it mattered to him. He was the one who held me in balance, and he wouldn't stop to put his weight into the scale.

But the lighthearted bliss of our honeymoon was over.


	3. Blind

A strange mood had smitten me when we left Narzulbur, that dreadful kind of mood that made every breath a fate-altering decision. The mood in which I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders and acquiesced with a sigh into carrying it around. A strange mixture of determination, masochism, self-pity and an inflated ego.

It was _not_ possible to hang on such a mood for long with Farkas around.

He recognised it, and he understood, we had both seen the same horrible things, after all - and drawn the same conclusions. But while Alduin shadowed my thoughts, he retained the very sane opinion that nobody could move along more than a few steps with the weight of the world on his back.

In contrast to me, he didn't feel guilty for things that couldn't be changed. He knew very well what he was capable of, but he knew even better that many things were beyond his power. In opposite to me he saw what _could _have been done, while I just saw what _should _have been done. He saw that I didn't really have a choice but to go on that stupid trip for that stupid gauntlet - nobody knew that the dragon would attack, and it was an honour offered by the Chieftain himself. I just saw that I should have disregarded this offer because it _was_ undeniably silly and that I should have been there.

I easily felt this pang of guilt that stuck in my stomach like a poisoned dagger. I could have saved lives if I had been faster this day. I could have saved even more lives if I had done what was necessary long ago, if I hadn't been so afraid to use the Scroll. So many months wasted, so many lives the dragons had taken in this time.

Farkas was the one who reminded me that, Dragonborn or not, some things were not in my control. That not everything bad happening in the world was my fault, and that I had the right to be afraid. That I also had the right to fall in love and to care for my friends and family and to be happy. That there was a life beside the Dragonborn duties, and that I not only had the right to live this life, but that it was essential. Nobody could be a world-saving hero all the time. Nobody could bear that burden for long without replenishing his energies.

Determination was supported, and a small share of self-pity was allowed. But masochism and an inflated ego had to go, and they were brushed away by the demands he made of me as his wife, as a Companion, as a simple human. And by the way he cared.

He brought me back down to earth and lifted my spirits by turning my mind back to the present, in his own, unmistakable way. He didn't even have to try, he didn't have to force a faux cheerfulness on me. It was just his way to deal with things, even with things as horrible as the destruction of Narzulbur.

And so he insisted on making camp early after this terrible day and told me if I wanted his fabulous rabbit stew for dinner, I'd have to hunt them myself. Nasty slippy little buggers. And when we reached Windhelm next afternoon and I just wanted to get some supplies and go on, he outright refused.

"Call me a wuss, but no way I'm gonna miss out on the last real bed for weeks. And a hot cider. And that fabulous bard they have in Candlehearth." He wagged his index at me. "And if you plan to spend the night in jail again, don't expect me to lift a finger for you!"

He drew me to the inn, paid for the night, shot a frightening bad-boy-look at the keeper when she dared to ask me not to cause any trouble this time and made for our room.

"Get out of your armour," he said with a grin, already unbuckling his own and leaving the pieces in a messy pile of bones, steel and leather. Fresh water from a pitcher was poured into a bowl, and he rubbed eagerly the warpaint from his face before he rummaged first through his own pack, then through mine and drew out some simple clothes. He shot me a prompting glance over his shoulder when he saw that I was still fumbling with my cuirass. "Get going, we don't have all day!"

"We don't have all day for _what_?" I asked suspiciously, watching his impatient behaviour slightly confused.

He slipped into a pair of lose pants. "We're going shopping. Incognito," he grinned.

It felt weird to stroll through the city in ordinary clothes, without the familiar weight of the armour on my shoulders and Dragonbane at my hip. I felt vulnerable, especially as we were both armed only with unobtrusive daggers, Farkas' tied to his belt, mine hidden in its sheath on my boot. But it also felt awesome to blend into the crowd, without looks and whispers following us, without attracting any attention.

But nevertheless I had to tell myself several times that it was safe. Windhelm was crawling with Stormcloak soldiers, and no Thalmor or assassin would dare to attack us inside these massive walls. The occasional pickpocket or bothersome drunk - we'd still be able to deal with them, even without gear that was meant to handle dragons.

After we visited the alchemist, the fletcher, the blacksmith and the grocer and got all the supplies we'd hopefully need for our journey into the unknown, Farkas bought me a crème treat and himself a sweetroll that we consumed on the stairs to one of the shops, just watching the comings and goings around us. Nobody even gave us a second look. Just an ordinary couple, resting after their purchases.

"Ah, that was good," I groaned content and gave him a grin. I could never eat a crème treat without giggling, especially not when he watched me with a particularly lascivious leer as I licked the remains of the creamy sweet filling off my fingers.

His shoulder nudged gently against mine. "I should get you out of your armour more often if it relaxes you like that," he chuckled.

"Hehe. I don't care what I wear as long as you keep these coming."

"Who knows, perhaps we'll find a Dwemer pastry shop in Blackreach. Perhaps it'll even still work." He laughed and stood up. "Come on, there's one more shop we have to visit. We can take all this stuff to the inn first, though."

He led me into the alleys of the Grey Quarter. I hadn't been there before, just heard about it, but the slum was even worse than I expected. Dark, filthy and moist, most of the houses in various stages of decay, the cobble pavement full of gaps and covered with filth and grime. The few Dunmer we met eyed us with open suspicion and hostility, and after my experiences with Galmar Stone-Fist's brother I couldn't blame them. At least Farkas seemed to know where he was going.

The store we entered at the end of a dark, narrow alley was a paradise of junk. A small room that was crammed full with shelves and cupboards, all of them stuffed with stuff. Incredible amounts of stuff, most of it worn, used, broken or simply useless, shelved into an unsorted chaos. I looked around in awe.

But Farkas approached the shopkeeper as if he knew exactly what he wanted. "Revyn Sadri?" he asked. When the man nodded, he stretched out his hand in a friendly greeting. The Dunmer ignored it, a gruff frown on his face.

"What do you want? I don't deal with Nords."

Farkas didn't lose his friendly demeanour. "We're friends of Athis from Whiterun. I guess you know him? He has recommended you if we're in search of… something special."

As soon as he had mentioned Athis' name, the mer's face lit up, and his posture lost its hostile stiffness. "Athis? Of course I know him! My, that guy has made his luck. And you're friends of him? Companions too? Excellent, excellent!" He shook the offered hand enthusiastically and gave me a beaming smile. "What are you looking for? Something in particular?"

Farkas laughed at his eagerness. "Well, we have a whole household to furnish. If you just show us what you have in stock, I'm sure we'll find something."

Revyn Sadri was apparently the only importer of original wares from his homeland far and wide, especially the rare varieties from the mostly destroyed island of Vvardenfell, and he led us into a small backchamber to present his treasures.

I didn't believe my eyes. He had the most beautiful tableware, made from opaque, shimmering blue glass or perfectly glazed dark red clay, wonderful carpets and blankets woven in the intricate ornamental designs of the Ashlanders, books with the history and legends of Morrowind, extravagant silken tunics and dresses from Mournhold that seemed to flow through my fingers. There were potions and alchemical ingredients I had never seen and instruments for a kind of music I had never heard before, raw pelts and treated leathers from animals I couldn't even imagine, armours of adamantium and a strange material gained from the shells of giant insects. Even his glass weapons were much harder and lighter than the ones we knew in Skyrim.

I felt like a kid in a candy shop when I turned to Farkas. "That's not fair. You know I'm broke," I mumbled.

"Yeah, but I'm not, and my coin is your coin," he laughed and bent down to me. "That's _my_ wedding gift. Originally I wanted to get you something special for your room in Jorrvaskr when Athis gave me the tip. But I'm sure you'll find something for Breezehome as well."

Revyn Sadri made the deal of his life that day. We bought dishes and carpets and blankets and a lot of other stuff we'd need for Breezehome. I took one of these beautiful daggers for me and a pair of awesome chitin gloves for Athis. He would love them. And in the end, Farkas laid one of those silken dresses on top of the pile of our purchases, dyed in shades of blue and cyan that seemed to come directly from the aurora over Whiterun and adorned with silvery embroidery. My face grew hot when I held it against myself, watched by both men. With that cut, more slits than seams, it wasn't worth to be called a _dress_.

"I won't wear that!"

Farkas watched me, leant against a shelf with his arms crossed over his chest, and looked very content. "Oh yes, you will," he grinned smugly, "and only for me."

* * *

Two dead bodies in the ice-covered depth of the ruin, one old and frozen, one freshly slain. The last remains of life other than ours in this endless abyss of lifeless, ice-covered machinery. The promise of hidden treasures had lured them inside, deceived them with the strange, ancient beauty of this place and finally caused their demise.

We were treasure hunters too.

Alftand was located high in the northern mountains, a bare desert of ice and snow, lifeless except for the occasional frost troll, snow bear and the everpresent ice wraiths. Once the climate here must have been gentler, but now the ruins were nearly completely swallowed by a huge glacier rolling down the mountainside, and only the tips of the highest towers still revealed their location.

An empty camp outside already hinted at the dread inside. It was abandoned, the remains scattered around, the fires long dead. Someone simply hadn't come back. We searched through the tattered tents with our weapons ready, but found nothing that indicated the fate of their owners. Farkas lifted an eyebrow.

"Cautious. They can only be inside."

Alftand's upper levels were covered in ice just like the outside, but that didn't prevent the mechanical spiders and automatons to go against us with their ancient routines of lightning attacks and poisoned darts. And we found the remains of the unlucky band of adventurers - the occasional deeply frozen body, remains of interim camps, long extinguished torches which had thawed the frozen shell of walls, pipes and grates and left nothing but glassy puddles of ice on the floor that made our progress just more difficult.

The Khajiit brothers were just the first we found. One of them had been dead for days or weeks, his frozen body giving no clue about the time that had passed. The other, still speaking with the corpse, lost deeply in the madness of Skooma withdrawal and loneliness, accused us of thieving and died to our swords.

These Dwemer ruins had a way to drive people mad with their constant movements, the noises echoing through the hallways, the plethora of deadly traps and the ubiquitous artificial life. So different than a normal muddy cave or even a tomb where only the dead and some skeevers shuffled around. Even if they were clearly ruins and abandoned for eras, they always made the appearance as if their former owners had _just _left. As if they'd come back every minute. As if the next room would be bustling with life.

Turning around a corner we faced a long aisle that was lined by suspicious tubes protruding from the walls high above our heads. Each of them would release a mechanical spider when we came closer.

"How do they do that? How do they know we're here?" Farkas asked under his breath, already readying his sword. He hated the eight-legged automatons nearly as much as their living counterparts.

I shrugged. "No idea. Perhaps our bodywarmth. Or the pattern of our steps." I beckoned him to take the lead and nocked an arrow. "Go on, we can't avoid them anyway."

The deeper we pushed forward the warmer it became, the icy covers receding and releasing shimmering metal, huge pipe systems that were warm to the touch and whole rooms shaking from the vibrations of hidden, but still working contraptions. Our way went steadily downwards, from hall to hall, past living quarters and rooms full of moving, stomping, steaming machinery, through huge metal doors that opened far too easy and far too noiseless.

Another lever, and when the wings of the gate slowly swung inwards, the stench overwhelming our nostrils let us jerk back. Farkas saw me blanch and lowered a soothing hand on my shoulder. "Quiet," he whispered, "they hear every sound."

To know about the horrible fate of the Snow Elves didn't make it any easier to encounter their descendants. The Falmer evoked an irrational horror in me, vile, evil, twisted creatures, fighting in the darkness with poison and deceit. We had bought every single bottle of antidote the alchemist in Windhelm had in stock.

This hall was a pit, bottomless and much darker than the rest of the ruins, lined at the outside by a narrow ramp and intermitted by small platform that held their crude huts. We heard more than saw, restless shuffling, silent shrieks and hissed answers, the clicks of the chaurus' chitinous pincers. And we smelled this stench that sent goosebumps down my arms. The foul stench of crushed, rotten mushrooms mingling with the acrid, poisonous evaporations of the deathly creatures at the bottom, the moistness from their eggnests and a sour odour of sweat.

It was the stench of hate against every living soul coming from outside, and we had to go through it.

I pressed myself against the wall, trying not to peek into the abyss when we started to descend. Cold sweat pooled above my brows. We weren't quiet enough - Farkas was never really silent, and I heard my own pants - and we recognised the shift in the noises below us. The notion of an alert. But we crept forwards, undisturbed, until we reached a collapse where the ramp was destroyed, leaving a gap impossible to cross. We had to jump down onto the next level, where the body of an Orsimer woman lay in a puddle of blood on a heap of broken stones.

We still contemplated our options when the first arrow whizzed past my ear and hit the wall behind my shoulder. Dropping down to present a smaller target, Farkas turned to me with a growl, his eyes showing the familiar golden tint. My body responded unconsciously to the signals of its mate.

"Follow me."

Farkas jumped down the gap with a powerful leap, the man with the power of the beast, and let out a deafening roar while still falling. He didn't change, but he made use of his wolf, and I followed him, reached into the well of instincts that was at my disposal, sharpening my senses and reflexes.

We were at an advantage because we could hear and smell good enough, but we could also see them, the horrible figures with their sickly pale grey skin, twisted faces and scarred, blind eye sockets. But we were only two against what felt like an army. I leaped onto the pile of stones and kicked the corpse of the unlucky adventurer down into the pit. The hectic clicking of the chaurus' pincers proved that they appreciated the gesture.

The Falmer were spread over the ramp, only a few of them coming for us with vicious black swords and clubs, but many of them firing from afar.

"Keep moving," I yelled at Farkas, but he did it anyway, already in a frantic fight with three of the enemies. I stayed behind him, took out the archers, not caring for a mage at first who had taken cover in one of the crude huts. Poison was more dangerous than lightning, but the bolts hitting me let my limbs convulse, each impact sending spasms down my spine and obscuring my aim. Farkas more sensed than saw what was happening, two dull thuds proved that he made short work of his foes and shoved them down into the darkness before he leaped down the ramp and after the wizard.

I heard his triumphant roar when I passed him, rushing down towards the bottom, the faint blueish glow from the egg piles guiding my way. The chaurus breeding area was separated by clawlike gates, vicious looking tips fitting together like the fangs of a dragon. Behind them, we saw the movements of the huge, pitch black insects, their pincers dripping with poison.

"Can't we just leave them behind?" I pointed at the gate. "I don't wanna go in there. These things creep me out."

"It's just big bugs," Farkas grinned, "and no, I'd rather not leave anything living behind."

They weren't just big bugs. They were huge, their monstrous heads nearly on eye-level when reared up for attack, scuttling towards us with aggressive clicks, ready to tear into flesh. Farkas stormed in, sword raised to pierce through the brittle shells and shield ready to protect him against their bites.

The moment I let my arrow fly against the last of the creatures, his pain-stricken roar echoed through the cavern and let me freeze. He had fallen to his knees and dropped his weapon. A corpse lay in front of him, but one of the creatures clung to his back, the sound of its legs scratching over the bones of his armour nauseating. It had fallen out of a kind of nest, a wet shimmering tube glued to the wall high over our heads and taken him by surprise, giving the chaurus he fought against opportunity to deal his attack.

And now he knelt hunched into a ball, jerking convulsively to shake the beast off. Greenish droplets trickled down his cheeks and neck, leaving red marks and ugly blisters behind.

_Bugs_ didn't spit acidic poison.

"Hands off," I yelled at him, stabbing frantically into the shuffling mess before me until I felt Dragonbane's tip slip between the plates of the carapace and it finally collapsed into a heap to the ground. I impaled the thing on his back and shoved it away. Farkas writhed on the floor, his whole body spasming, trying desperately not to touch the injury in his face. And he wailed in pain. I had never heard him scream like that, in such blinding agony, and I had seen him with many injuries that on first glance seemed much more lethal.

He looked terrifying, the acid etching into the raw flesh of his face, his left eye milky and unseeing. I knelt on his chest, trying to keep him stable and to lock his spasming arms, and fumbled my water skin from my belt.

"It hurts," he whimpered, "my eye!"

"I know," I said, curling my hand into his neck, "don't touch. 't will be better soon."

I whispered soothing nonsense while I carefully washed away the liquid, cleaned the wounds with a shirt torn into strips and rinsed his eye until we were out of fresh water, and slowly I felt him relax, felt how he forced himself to deepen his shallow breath and not to flinch at the touch of my fingers. When I helped him to sit up and handed him the antidote, he gulped it down in one go, directly followed by a healing potion. The draughts and a touch of my healing spell left only tender, sore scars in his face, the newly formed skin soft to the touch.

But his left eye was blind, and when I fastened a clean cotton strip and around his head to cover it, sheer terror was written into his face. Because it didn't make a difference if it was covered or not.

"Will it… heal?" He stood on wobbly legs, weak from shock and pain, and his voice was shaky.

I touched his face gently and gave him an encouraging smile. "I don't know. We can just hope, but it will take time. We'll see the healers in Winterhold, I'm sure they can help you."

His fingers palpated along the bandage. "Divines, that hurt." His voice was low, and he looked so incredibly helpless. As if he was ashamed to show such weakness. I took both our packs and drew his arm over my shoulder.

"Come on. Let's get you out of here, okay?" He just nodded, his gaze set to the ground.

But it wasn't so easy to get out. The way back was blocked by the collapsed ramp, and the way forward by more enemies, more Falmer creeping in the shadows, more Dwemer automatons springing to life in the least expected moments. Farkas gritted his teeth and followed my lead, but his movements were clumsy and precarious, and when he was nearly impaled by a spike trap because he didn't see it in time, I told him to stay behind and let me clear the way. It would take some time until he got used to have only half of his field of view.

When he started to stumble along and was nearly pushed off a ledge by a moving piston, I decided to find a place to rest. Without fresh water it was the worst decision possible, but we didn't have much choice, and so we settled in a small, secluded chamber we could at least bar from the inside. Farkas fell asleep without eating as soon as I had placed our bedrolls on the cold stone, clinging to me for warmth and safety.

The patch had to be ripped off after a few hours of rest, sticky with blood, tears and the oozing from the sore flesh beneath it. When I covered his healthy eye with my palm, he saw nothing. Not even a shadow, just blackness. To see him tense and clench his teeth, trying desperately not to freak out on this loss of sensation nearly made _me_ lose control. He swallowed heavily when I took my hand away.

"How does it look like?"

I had to be honest. "Not good. Sore. But the eye still waters, I think that's a good sign."

He nodded slowly. "Yes, perhaps. It also still hurts." It didn't look as if he believed in my words.

I drew him to his feet. "Come on, you really have to get out of here. I need water to clean it."

If I had known how near we were to the exit I would've brought him out of these cursed ruins and spared him this night of pain and thirst. The next huge golden gate led us into a big circular room, void of anything but two beautiful golden statues, shimmering metal figures more than twice the size of a man, their bearded faces the same as the many similar busts that decorated the whole place. If this was what the Dwemer of old looked like, they had been a handsome race.

One of the statues lay broken and crumpled in front of its pedestal, but the other still stood proud and tall, overlooking the room and the broad staircase leading to the next door.

Until we approached and it awoke with a quiver and a hiss of steam. Of course it wasn't just a statue. Nothing in these ruins was just decorative.

"Back off," I yelled at my companion, but Farkas didn't react. Instead he drew his weapon, his stance alert and ready to attack. _Fool_.

The colossus stomped towards us with earthquaking steps, his arms raised and the massive metal fists ready to smash every intruder into a smeary heap of pulp. But this thing wasn't just an intelligent oversized cudgel. Suddenly an arm shot forward, and the fist released a blast of hot steam that would have cooked us alive if I hadn't shoved us both out of the way with raw force. I felt the hot vapour stream over my shield when I buried Farkas beneath me.

For a moment we were a petrified, uncoordinated tangle of limbs, but the next step of the Centurion let the metal ground tremble, and I sprung into action. The time for heroism and risks was over, none of us would get near this thing.

_"YOL TOOR SHUL!"_

My trusted Dragonfire. Dwemer metal could withstand it, at least for a time, but when the water supplies the behemoth used for his steam blast vaporised all at once, he simply exploded under the pressure and decomposed into a pile of dented scrap.

"Fine," I glared at Farkas, "what was that? I tell you to back off, and you get ready to _fight_? You wanna kill us both now?"

Gods, he looked so contrite. But he'd have to come to terms with the fact that at the moment, he was more risk than help.

He raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I'm sorry, Qhouri," he said lowly, his gaze at his feet, "that was stupid, I know. But I'll have to unlearn to have your back first." His expression showed nothing but self-contempt and despair.

My anger blew away like the steam in the air when he dropped his forehead on my shoulder, his back trembling. I lifted my hand to his charred cheek and stroked the tender skin. "Hey," I said softly, "don't you dare. I need you in my back. But right now you're gonna let me have yours, okay?"

We stood like that for several minutes, and I held his stiff, rigid body until I felt him relax. A deep sigh escaped him when I tucked a sweaty strand of hair out of his face. "Thank you," he said quietly, "I'll do my best."

I made a few steps away from him. "Stand there. I gotta show you something." I foraged through my pack and drew out an apple. "Do you see me?"

"Sure." He looked slightly confused.

"You see what I have here?"

"Yeah, an apple. I'm hungry." A small grin curled his lips, the first for hours.

I laughed at him. "Catch it if you want it."

I threw it straight into his direction, and the apple flew past his head, Farkas' hands clapping together far behind. He gasped in shock.

"See," I said, "not only do you not see what happens on your left side, you also can't estimate distance and speed of moving objects any more. That's what you'll have to relearn."

The way his body tensed it was obvious that helpless frustration was short of boiling over. His voice was a rumbling growl. "Gods, I'm completely _useless_. A cripple. I'm really gonna get us killed!"

I grabbed his shoulders in an effort to get him out of this mood. "Listen to me and stop this nonsense. You're not useless, you're just injured. And even if you lose the eye, you will learn. Your senses and your brain will adapt. It will just take some time, and until then I'm gonna help you for once."

"But… I feel so…" He was lost for words.

I shook him. "Helpless. I know. And you are, for now, and that's why you better do what I say. Tell me, was Skjor useless?"

"Skjor? No. Of course not." He paused for a moment. "Oh."

I smiled at him. "See? Nobody would have dared not to take him seriously just because he had only one eye. He did fine, and you will too. And apart from that, it's far too early to panic. Let's wait what the healers in Winterhold say, okay?"

"How do you know all this?" Finally he managed to show me a small quirk of his lips.

"Have you never spoken with Skjor how he got this injury?"

"Gods, no. He never liked to speak about his time in the War."

"Well, I was curious, I asked him and he told me. One evening in the mare, after a couple of meads," I grinned.

The next gate was finally the last. It opened as noiseless as all the others and led us into the last room of these blasted ruins, a huge dome with a platform in the middle and another gate in the back, framed by some pillars. And between these pillars, we heard voices. Angry voices shouting at each other, one male and one female, and the sounds of a fight.

I looked at Farkas who stood behind me, peeking over my shoulder. "Whoever they are, they cheated!" I whispered, "how in Oblivion did they get past that giant?" He just shrugged.

We didn't interfere as the fight continued, and they slowly made their way towards the central platform, but finally a Redguard woman turned out victorious. She stripped the weapon of her enemy and leant curiously over the strange device in the middle of the room.

Farkas shuffled in my back. "Friend or foe?" This time it was my turn to shrug. We'd see.

I nocked an arrow and stepped out of the shadows. The woman froze, then turned with a yell and charged - foe, obviously. She died with the arrow through her throat.

The attunement sphere from Septimus Signus fit perfectly into the mechanism in the centre and revealed an endless, pitchblack staircase into the depths. This had to be the entrance to Blackreach. And it would have to wait.

Because the gate in the back led to a platform that went upwards. All on its own, after we switched a lever. I didn't want to know how it worked, but we got out where we got in, near the abandoned camp of the unlucky treasure hunters, in a small dome that had been locked from the outside. Now from the inside we could open the door, and Farkas started to laugh hysterically when he stepped into the bright daylight.

"We should have taken one of your thieves with us," he hiccuped between snickers, "or you have to take lockpicking lessons with Brynjolf. So much less trouble if we'd been able to open this damned door right from the beginning!"

It was only noon when we left Alftand, and we just took the time to start a small fire and melt enough snow to quench our thirst and clean Farkas' wound. The eye was clotted by a sticky mess of dried tears and oozing blood, but at least the blood seemed to come mostly from the sore skin around it that was again ripped open when I removed the patch. He held perfectly still when I let the lukewarm water trickle over his eyeball, and he said that it didn't hurt as much any more.

We made some simple tests – the injured eye still moved synchronous with the healthy one when he looked at something, and the pupil still reacted slightly to light and darkness. And when he covered both eyes for some time and then jerked away the palm on the left, a broad, genuine smile crept into his features.

"It's lighter, Qhouri! I can't see any shapes, but I can see that it's lighter out here!" The happiness over this small glimpse of hope shone from his face.

To see him smile like that was like a sunrise, and all at once it broke the tension of worry and concern that had built up over the last day. I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, and his hands palmed my face, his thumbs wiping away the tears of relief. "Hey," he whispered, "what happened?"

"Nothing. I just missed your smile," I sobbed and felt silly, especially when he pulled me closer to comfort me.

But we could have spared ourselves the trip to Winterhold, because the College healers were useless. Absolutely useless. The Breton mage who called herself Mistress of Restoration Magic examined Farkas' eye carefully, just to declare in far too many inscrutable, longwinded, elaborate words that there was nothing she could do. That the burned iris would have to regenerate naturally, and that she couldn't make any predictions if it would heal completely and how long it would take.

The longer her lecture took, the more I wanted to smash my fist into her pretty face. Pretty, but oh so incredibly useless. Instead I smashed it into the wood of the door after she had left our room, so hard I nearly broke my knuckles. "Bloody shit," I growled in a choked voice, punching the door over and over again, "cursed Daedra, what a godsdamned crap!"

Farkas sat on a chair, his forehead buried in his palms. At least the healer had given him a leather eyepatch so we could get rid of these sticky cotton bandages. He sighed deeply. "Shouldn't I be the one to freak out now?"

I turned sharply, ready to yell at him and only bit my tongue in the last moment. Divines. He was the injured one, he was in pain and didn't know if and when he'd be healed. Was I really such an egoistic bitch that I thought of nothing but my own matters? Yes, I was.

"Hey, come here," he said softly, but I just shook my head frantically, pacing through the room.

"I know what you're gonna say, and I don't wanna hear it!" Now I _did_ yell at him. "I don't wanna hear that you can't come with me to Blackreach. Don't you dare to say that you're a burden and that I should take someone else. Keep your fucking common sense to yourself!"

"Qhouri, please… be reasonable."

"I'm tired of being reasonable!" My forefinger pointed accusingly at him. "Gods, we've only just married! I'm tired of counting the days and hours every time we're together. I just wanna be with you, is that too much to ask?"

His head jerked up, brows furrowed. And he shouted. "Shor's balls, woman, you think I'm _happy _aboutthis?" His thundering outbreak, totally unaccustomed from him, let me stand rooted to the spot.

But it was over as soon as it began, and his slumping shoulders clearly indicated the same helplessness I felt. "Come here, please." When he reached out and drew me onto his knees, I let my angry resistance go.

"I'd get us killed down there, Qhouri. I'm useless as a shield-brother at the moment, and it will take weeks or months till I'm fit again. You heard the healer. I'd allow nobody in my condition just to clear a bear den with you, and we've no idea what awaits you in Blackreach."

My forehead dropped against his. "But I need you. For so much more than just to shield my back. I can keep you safe!"

He shook his head, a sad smile on his face. "I want nothing more than to come with you, explore this place and find this friggin' scroll, you know that. But it's not gonna happen, not now."

"Then I'll wait till you're okay again," I said stubbornly.

"Months, Qhouri? Really?" His one-eyed gaze pierced into mine. "Do you have so much time?"

Holy Kyne. The images of Narzulbur flashed through my mind. If I delayed this task even further now, if I wasted even more time… there was no excuse. Not any more.

"How can you be so damned reasonable? Why don't you tell me that you won't let me go down there without you?"

His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Every time I try to forbid you something you threaten to kill me, remember?" He hid his face in my neck, muffling his voice. "I know you, Qhouri. You have to go on now. And I won't hold you back."

I buried my hand in the tresses of his hair. He never looked so vulnerable as in this moment.

"I'd throw apples at you, all day long. And scare you from behind until you sense me coming."

His smile was thin. "You can't scare me, I always know when you're near. Doesn't work with friggin' machines, though."

"So, that's it then? We return to Jorrvaskr, and I ask around who of our siblings has time to search through this blasted kingdom with me? Perhaps I should just go alone. Didn't even manage to keep you safe, after all." The bitterness in my voice was unmistakable, and Farkas held me at arm's length, his face deadly serious.

"Don't you even think about it. It was my own stupidity that brought me into this mess, and I already feel horrible enough. To think about you alone down there in the darkness where no one knows what lurks around… I'll tie you up and carry you to Jorrvaskr myself if I have to, _Companion_."

It was a tired, silent dinner we had that evening, and I just ate enough to calm my growling stomach before I retreated. I felt my wolf pace through the chambers of my mind, scratching the thin walls and begging to get released. Frustration and anger did that to her, and I felt itchy and restless. But instead to let her run through the snowy wilderness or calm her with some sour ale, I lay tired, shivering and wide awake, fighting nausea and nervousness.


	4. Disappointment

Winterhold was a frozen, hopeless, useless wreck of a city. Even in such a godsforsaken corner of Skyrim a city that wasn't even able to come up with a halfway decent breakfast deserved to collapse into the sea.

I had barely slept and woke with the first light, a dull ache lingering in my bones and a queasy feeling in my stomach. Everything grated on my nerves, the snowflakes whirling in erratic patterns outside of our window, the chilly dampness of my armour and the stiffness of the straps, Vilkas' amulet that I shoved between cuirass and tunic where I could ignore that it was there.

And especially the bowl full of thin, watery, lukewarm slime the inn-keeper sold us as porridge. Disgusting.

"If you leave out on breakfast something is really wrong, Qhouri," Farkas said.

"I should've gone hunting tonight," I scowled, "this stuff isn't edible." When I shoved the bowl away, he started to empty it, but his face was concerned. "Come on," he said finally and pushed back his chair, "let's pack our stuff and get off."

But when the door of our room had closed behind us, he pulled me against his chest. He sighed when he saw my uneasy smile. "I hate it when you're like that. So unhappy."

"I'm just tired, Farkas. So tired. I hate that you got injured, and I don't wanna return to Jorrvaskr. This whole trip was a disaster so far."

His face softened, and he looked down on me with a warm smile. "Riften wasn't."

I felt my lips curl, somehow against my own will, and rested my head with closed eyes against the wall of his chest. Gods, I was so tired. "If you're honest, even Riften was a disaster," I chuckled lowly.

But his hand curled around my chin and forced me to look up to him, his gaze locking into mine. "No, it wasn't. It was wonderful. It was the best day of my life, and you better never forget that."

I felt much better when the village finally vanished behind us and we climbed the first hills on the road towards Windhelm. Even the weather got better when we left the vicinity of Winterhold, and soon I was throwing snowballs at Farkas and had lots of fun with his clumsy attempts to catch them. He shook himself like a wet whelp and cursed violently when icy water started to leak under his armour, but he appreciated the change of mood from brooding to mischief at least as much as I. This was training, after all.

He turned the tables though when suddenly a strong arm slung around my waist and he pushed me head first into a snowdrift, holding me up only by my ankles until I choked and gasped for air. His whole body shook with unbridled laughter. "That'll teach you not to make fun of your husband, woman," he snickered.

"That teaches me nothing but not to get caught next time," I grinned, shaking the lose snow from my hair and rubbing my cheeks, bright red from cold and exertion.

When he managed to ward himself against a snowball and the missile burst on his bracers into a fog of white powder, we both wailed in triumph.

We made more than half of the distance to Windhelm on the first day, and it was an easy trip. In this Stormcloak territory we didn't have to fear to meet rampaging Thalmor patrols, and other distractions were few – a few bandits, a thief we sent back to Riften with greetings instead of gold, the occasional pack of wolves and a couple of sabrecats. Nothing spectacular.

But I knew something gnawed on Farkas when he became suspiciously quiet for more than a few minutes and I felt his boring gaze on me.

I turned to him. "What's the matter? What's the staring for?"

He flashed me a sheepish grin. "Nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing. Something's bothering you."

"It's just... you wanna take Athis to Blackreach?"

"Yeah," I shrugged. "If he has time."

"I know you're good together. But perhaps you should go with someone else."

"Why?" Of course I wanted to go with Athis. He had already explored Dwemer ruins when he still lived on Vvardenfell.

"Because with his daggers, he'd be useless against something like that giant. And you can't shout all the time." He gave me a fleeting grin. "You need something badass."

"Athis is badass!"

"Of course he is. Just not against a giant heap of steaming metal."

I didn't want to discuss this now. "We'll see. Perhaps I'll take Ria or Torvar."

He chewed pensively on his lip. "Or Vilkas."

I stopped dead. I must have misheard. "You can't be serious."

But he nodded slowly. "He's the best. And he has the most experience of us all with this Dwemer and Falmer stuff. Even more than I."

As if that was important. My voice was icy. "Your brother _hates_ me, Farkas! Are you crazy?"

He explored my face, searching and probing. "Bullshit, Qhouri. Vilkas doesn't hate you. And he knows if you even suffered so much as a scratch, I'd make his death longer and more painful than everything he could ever think of."

"Oh, and you think that's a good basis to work together? To rely on each other? Because he's _afraid _ofyou? Gods no!" I shook my head, still not believing he really made this suggestion. Vilkas, of all people!

"Why not?"

I stared into his face. "You really expect me to trust him with my life? _You'd_ trust him with my life?"

"Yes. I want to know you're safe, and I'd trust him to keep you safe."

"But _I _don't. End of discussion." That proclamation didn't impress him in the slightest.

"But you trusted him against the hunters in Hircine's cave. You said he saved you then."

He was really serious. He really tried to cajole me into this madness. "Farkas, please. He had to save me to save himself. He didn't have a choice, and I didn't either."

"He would have died for you in that cave."

I snorted. "How touching! And you know that how?"

"He told me. And I believe him." Utter conviction sounded from his voice.

"You know exactly that he'd tell you everything. Don't be so naïve."

"He wouldn't lie to me!"

"Of course he would, the bloody coward! Have you forgotten what he's done?" One of us was missing something, and I was sure it wasn't me. "He left me to die on that godsforsaken beach. He ran away from you all when he vanished from Jorrvaskr, he ran away from us in Falkreath, and he didn't even have the balls to show his face when we came to Rorikstead. _For him._ After _I _dealt with Hircine. How much more proof do you need?"

"He didn't run away from you in Rorikstead. He wanted to speak with you. Really. He only kept away because I told him to leave you alone. You were so badly injured… and I knew you didn't want to deal with him."

I exploded. "But I still don't want to deal with him, don't you get it? And I certainly don't want to spend days or weeks in some bloody cave with him, alone and dependent on each other. That's insane! Can we _please _endthis ridiculous discussion? Keep… Vilkas… out of my eyes!"

I turned on my heels and strode down the street, not waiting if he followed. He lowered his gaze, defeated.

I was seething. Curse those twins. Curse this man who tore himself apart by trying to protect those he cared for. As if we hadn't enough problems to deal with. But when I looked over my shoulder and found him standing where I had left him, staring after me with this torn, beaten look, I waited for him.

"Okay. You've got to get that off your chest. What happened after Rorikstead? What makes you so certain?"

"It's not important." He refused to look at me.

"It seems that it is."

"No, it isn't. Not for you. If you really wanted to know, you'd have asked long ago." His gaze was cold and distant. "Forget it, okay? I'll keep him out of your eyes."

Now I stopped my walk and watched after him. He distanced himself from me, didn't want me to share in his experiences and what occupied him so obviously. Of course he didn't. I had told him more than once that I had no interest in his relationship to his brother.

My hand went to the amulet at my throat. I wore it, Vilkas' gift – even if I had to block out that it was made by the same hands that had touched me so violently. But Farkas wore the other half, and he had given me the happiest smile when I fastened the band around his neck and he did the same for me.

But perhaps this gift wasn't meant as two parts that belonged together. Perhaps it was just a reminder how easy it was to split something that seemed to be whole.

I hurried to catch up to him and grabbed his arm. "It's important if it bothers you," I said imploringly. "Tell me what happened. Please."

His answer was curt and meaningless. "We went to Morthal first. That's why I was late. Then to Markarth and then to Skyhaven."

"Farkas… please."

He turned sharply to me. "What do you wanna hear? That it was his idea to escort Erik to Morthal because he wanted to see his nieces? That we've hunted together and that it was like in old times? How much time he spent with Calcelmo for you or how thankful he was that he had a place to stay, even if it was with _Delphine?_" He clenched his teeth. "You don't want to know all this. All _you_ want to know is that he suffers, and all you will get from this is that he doesn't suffer enough. You told us before... Kodlak and me, that there's no solution. That it will never end."

He wasn't just miffed. So much frustration radiated from him that I took a startled step back.

"I don't know what you expect from me."

"Nothing!" he snapped. "No one expects anything from you! I will keep him out of your eyes, okay?"

"Godsdammit, _you_ made this idiotic suggestion!"

"Yes, because you're not honest with me!" He spun around, grabbed the leather band around my neck and pulled the amulet from beneath my cuirass. It dangled from his fist as he held it accusingly in front of my face. "Why do you wear this thing?" he barked, one eye flaring with fury. "You hate it. You loathe it. You hated that I spent those weeks with him and still you sent me off. And if you don't wanna know the answers, then _don't ask!_"

I snatched the trinket from his grip and pushed him back. "What would you like instead, that I tell you to never see him again?"

"Yes! At least then I'd know where you stand!"

"You know exactly where I stand!" I yelled. "Gods, if it weren't for you he'd be long dead!" I shoved past him, the claws on my pauldrons scratching his arm. A small boulder I kicked furiously down the slope towards the sea took a small avalanche with it, and I had to blink against the sting in my eyes. We had had so much fun only a few minutes ago. What had gotten into him that he made such a fuss suddenly? Why did he have to bring this nonsense up at all? He knew beforehand how I'd react.

This time, I didn't look back as I stomped down the street. A carriage would take me from Windhelm to Whiterun, and I had more important things to take care of than the stupid ideas my stupid husband had about his stupid brother.

Eventually he caught up, but he went quietly half a step behind me, staring into the distance, his jaw set. The silence was oppressive and cold and made me cringe inwardly. I couldn't keep up my anger when he was like this, so distant and withdrawn into himself. No fight about Vilkas was worth that we didn't speak with each other.

When I let my hand slip into his, I felt him hesitate for a moment. But then he grasped it firmly, returning the press of my fingers.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. I'm just a selfish fool."

I rolled my eyes. "Farkas, please."

He chewed on his lower lip. "Have you noticed that every time we fight, we fight about Vilkas?"

Especially when he came up with stupid ideas. I had no idea what this was about. I shrugged helplessly. "Yeah. But at the moment I really don't get why you freaked out like that."

"Because I'm selfish."

"No, you're not. What's the matter?"

His gaze was set on the ruins of a tomb that we passed in the distance. He took a deep breath. "Perhaps this is how it has to be. That there's no solution for you and him. Perhaps you're right." He looked tired as he became quiet for a moment, rubbing his forehead. "But every time you do something like that... like wearing that amulet, or asking questions about him as if you really wanted to know... I start to hope that it could perhaps be different. That perhaps, one day, you'll find a way to deal with him that's not for me, but for yourself." He gave me a sidewards glance. "And then I come up with stupid ideas, and we end up fighting."

I had to let this settle for a moment. Yes, Vilkas stood between us, we still stood on opposite sides when it came to him. But it had always been this way, and we lived with it – ignoring the fact whenever possible, finding compromises when not. Trying not to hurt each other. Only that it didn't always work.

"I thought... we have a solution. You do with him whatever you want, and he leaves me alone."

"But we fight about him, and it's not worth it. I won't allow that he comes between us." He let go of my hand and stood before me, his finger trailing along the leather band around my neck. I had stuffed the amulet back between armour and tunic. "I will not see him again, Qhouri. And you should take this off. You don't have to wear it for me."

I didn't know what to do. He knew me so well and was so insistent in what he thought was right. Perhaps he was indeed. Perhaps I should just rip it off and throw it away.

But I couldn't rip Vilkas out of my life, and he couldn't either. He was there, in his head and in mine, in stupid ideas and so many little things. He didn't leave me alone in so many ways. There were Farkas and the pack, bonds that included us both, but this little trinket was the only tangible connection I had to him. I could only touch it with revulsion, and still I wore it. It wasn't _only_ for Farkas. It was something between Vilkas and me, a constant itch in the back of my mind that he was still there. A challenge I didn't understand and couldn't ignore.

I didn't ask questions about him only to appease his brother. I asked because I _wanted to know_.

I couldn't help these questions. I couldn't help the morbid, unhealthy curiosity I felt for this man and the uneasy feeling that I didn't know him as good as I should, considering what we had been through together. If only to have a weapon against him.

Perhaps I'd need it, perhaps not – I didn't know.

And I had to acknowledge Farkas' opinion, even if it was hard to share it.

But so much had happened and so much had changed since that fight in the shipwreck – I had changed, had gained strength and confidence. I owed a lot of this strength to the man beside me. Farkas had always believed in me, unfaltering from the very beginning. He had taught me to believe in myself – and to trust in others.

He also believed in his brother. Perhaps he always had, but he wouldn't have made this suggestion if he didn't mean it. Ha had known how I'd react, but he also knew his brother better than anyone else. Was it right to call him insane? Perhaps Vilkas owed him as much as I.

Perhaps more change was possible if I could bring myself to allow it.

He watched me expectantly.

"I'm not sure that will change anything," I said lowly. "I shouldn't force you to find a solution for me."

"You're my wife. He has no right to make demands."

"Yeah, but he does. He expects you to take care of him, and he knows he has to share you with me." I grunted annoyed. "Gods, that sounds horrible. As if you're a sweetroll we can split between us."

"Sometimes I feel like one." A small smile quirked his lips. "But you got that wrong anyway. It's not about me."

"Of course it is. He must hate that we're together."

He shook his head. "You said he doesn't have to get through you to get to me. But that's not what he's trying." He pointed at my throat. "This thing... he made it for us. But most of all did he make it for you. He tries to use me to get to you, not the other way around."

I was dumbfounded, and a shiver crept up my spine.

"Why would he do that?"

"He needs you."

"No one on Nirn needs me less than Vilkas," I said with a snort.

"Oh yes, he does. If he ever wants a chance to start over, he needs you."

When the meaning of his words dropped in, the shiver became a full-grown shudder. It wasn't a shudder of fear.

Of course he did. He owed me his life and his sanity – me and Farkas – and of course it wasn't enough. He wanted back what he once had and was, esteemed Master-of-Arms of the Companions and designated successor of Kodlak. I could give it to him – or deny it. The thought made me giddy with amusement, revulsion and a rush of power.

And I had no idea how to deal with this – with this ridiculous demand he dared to make, even if it was only to his brother, and with the responsibility that came with it.

"Give me a single reason why I should help him to get back on his feet," I said curtly.

Farkas didn't answer.

"You can tell him that for all I care he can throw himself into Red Mountain."

"Perhaps you should tell him yourself."

"Yeah, perhaps I should." I had a lot of ideas what Vilkas could do to himself, and the thought to spit them into his face was tempting. I gave him a crooked grin. "If I really did that... would you like to be there?"

The corners of his lips quirked up. "Not sure if I'd like it. But the last time I let you run off alone to see him, you ended up with the curse of a Daedra. Of course I'd be there."

* * *

"Whiterun."

"No. Markarth."

The carriage driver at the Windhelm stables looked confused from Farkas to me and back. And Farkas looked confused at me.

"Where to, now?" the man asked finally. "First Whiterun, then Markarth?"

Suddenly I wanted nothing more than to return to Jorrvaskr, lock myself in the empty rooms of Breezehome or hide in Dragonsreach's dungeon.

My lips were pressed into a firm line. "Markarth, directly. We're gonna get off in Karthwasten, though."

"Fine with me, as long as you pay the full fee," the man muttered and beckoned us impatiently to get onto the benches. At least it was gonna be a long journey. A long journey to think things over.

I would never understand how someone like Farkas, someone so straightforward and uncomplicated could make me think so much. Especially about things I didn't want to deal with.

We didn't argue very often, but when we did, it was exhausting and arduous. And sometimes all hell broke lose. It was hard to fight with Farkas. I was tempted to start an argument much more often than he, simply because talking about something helped me to clear my mind, but he hated it. And so he usually backed off, laughed at me when I lost my temper and made more than clear that he didn't think it worth the effort. He gave me the feeling I had won, if there was something like winning at all, just to keep the peace.

But there were still these big questions he thought worthy to have an opinion on. And if such an opinion had once settled itself in his head, it was thought through, based on his gut and his mind and stood firm like the Throat of the World, unwavering and solid. Once he was certain of something, he wouldn't back off a single inch. He'd listen to me, he'd try to understand, but he wouldn't give in. He'd quietly agree to disagree, and no shouting and cursing from my side would change his mind.

The problem was, time had proven more than once that he was right. And with his unfaltering certainty, he made me think. Hard. Painful. He saw me struggle, he argued with me in his calm, confident manner, but he didn't fight my battles for me. And he never backed off when something was important to him, never let me win in these cases.

Vilkas was one of these questions, and again he had won. The matter was set for Farkas after our argument on the road, and he didn't press it any further during our way to Windhelm. But as always, the way he had explained himself, how he opened his mind to me and revealed the conflict in him without any fear got me thinking. Hard and painful. And he left me alone with my thoughts, knowing I'd come to him when I needed to talk.

And in the evening, when we sat warm and full at the fire of Candlehearth, when we were a bit tipsy from hot cider and I asked him again to tell me about the weeks he spent with Vilkas, he looked at me from wide, astonished eyes, but at least he didn't refuse again.

"I don't know what to tell you. I don't wanna fight with you again."

"I won't fight. I promise."

He took a swig from his tankard. "I guess you don't wanna hear how we killed a spider for Calcelmo? A monster. There's a whole Dwemer city beneath Markarth."

"No. Though I'm proud of you." I was quiet for a moment. "I wanna know why you trust him."

"Why, Qhouri? You don't. You have no reason to. Nothing I can say will change that."

No, I didn't. But I trusted him. Him and his judgement.

I gave him a feeble grin. "Perhaps I'm just curious."

His lips twitched, but he nodded and relaxed into his chair, legs stretched out and his hands folded behind his head as he gathered his thoughts. "I trust him because he's my little brother," he said finally, tilting his head to look at me. "We don't know who of us was born first, you know? It was probably only a few minutes difference anyway, but back then... before you came, Vilkas was always seen as the elder. He's the smarter one, and he has so many talents... people always came to him for advice and for help. Everybody thought he would become the next Harbinger."

I wanted to object, but he shook his head slightly not to interrupt him. "That's how others have seen him. But for me... he was my big brother, but he was always brother first and big second. He always believed in me, challenged me to keep up with him and he taught me so much..." He shook his head, a wistful smile on his face. "But he needed me as well. To let off steam, to keep his head together, to relax. To make things right with people he pissed off. It's always been the two of us, and we've always looked out for each other."

"But you still do, don't you?"

"No. At the moment, he needs me much more than I need him." A tinge of sadness lingered in his voice. "With you, he lost control... and then he lost himself. And with the ring and Hircine... it happened what he always feared most. He learned how it is to be at someone's mercy. To be powerless. And it has changed him. After Rorikstead, he asked me for help to go on, something he's never done before. He asked me for advice what to do. He wanted to know about you and how we live together. And somehow, we've changed roles. He's my little brother now, and he has accepted this change. For the first time in his life, he has accepted to rely on someone else."

"And what does he want now?"

"What he always wants. The impossible. Turn back time and start over." He rubbed his palm over his face. "Of course he knows that's not possible. But it's still what he wants."

"He's a mess."

"Yeah, that he is. But..." His gaze flitted over my face. He bit his lip anxiously.

"Yes?" I said softly.

"He's my little brother, Qhouri. I cannot forgive him what he did to you, and we both know that nothing can make up for it. But sometimes... he doesn't deserve it, but sometimes I wish Vilkas would meet someone like you. Someone who could be to him what you're to me and just make him happy once. And who'd give him another chance."

It became quiet between us, and when I propped my elbows on my knees and stared into the embers, his hand came up and cradled my neck, warm and soothing. Everything he had told me now was only about Vilkas. He made no demand, and it didn't concern me, not directly. But there was still that one question left that I had always shied away from, because it was about me.

To ask for the reasons would mean that I tried to understand him. It would mean to acknowledge that there could be reasons that were worth understanding.

Perhaps it was time to stop being a coward.

I leant into his touch. "Why did he do it, Farkas?" My voice was weak.

His breath hitched, but Farkas never shied away from difficult questions. "Many reasons, and I'm not sure I get them all. Sometimes I think he doesn't know himself." His smile was sad and tender. "For a start, he didn't get why Kodlak wanted you to stay... you were only a whore, after all. And then you saved me and became not only a whelp, but part of the pack and Dragonborn. You brought so much change... suddenly we had a reputation as dragon slayers. And with all our travels and when you fixed the mess in Morthal and I spent more time there... he had no part in it, and he felt left out."

"But I didn't fix anything! You fixed it! How could he begrudge you that you were happy with your daughters?"

"It wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been there. And he... he always said they were an accident and that Jonna's demands were unjust and that they'd just tie me down. And in a way, he was right. He didn't believe we could make it work, and I didn't either." He gave me a crooked grin. "I usually believed what he told me. Until you came and I fell in love with you. I didn't want to, but it happened and he didn't get that either. You know that he got my fist when he told me just to fuck you and get over with it?" And amused smile curled his lips.

"You hit him? And you think that's funny?"

"But it is – in hindsight. We never fought over a woman before. We'd rather share than fight. And now I had to beat some sense into his stupid head for a woman we both didn't want to bed."

I buried my face in my palms. "Gods. And I was so oblivious."

He became serious again. "He was an ass and he earned it. But he felt betrayed. By me, by Kodlak and the pack, by his own beast and by you." His fingers played with the leather band and the golden chain around my neck. One gift from him, the other from his brother. "I don't know what pushed him so far, Qhouri. It was so many little things no one took really seriously. I didn't either. But for him, it became one big thing. Perhaps he thought he has to break you before it broke himself." He shrugged. "Perhaps this is something you have to ask him yourself."

"You think he would give me an answer? An honest answer?"

"I don't know. But if you really wanna know, you'll have to ask him."

And now we were on our way to Skyhaven Temple. I felt itchy and uneasy and ridiculous. I didn't have time for such a detour, told myself I'd send a courier to Jorrvaskr and meet with my shield-sibling – whoever was up to it – in Morthal in a few days.

It didn't mean that I was entirely sure why I sat on this carriage at all. The carriage to Helgen, the one to Solitude, and now this one. Carriages were the vehicles of doom. Farkas' incredulous bewilderment when we had left Windhelm in western direction had spoken for itself.

Of course, going to Blackreach with Vilkas was not an option. But I wanted to get these questions out of my head, wanted to confront him and stop to use Farkas as a pawn. Before I fought with my husband over him, I'd rather fight with him personally.

And I wanted to do so now that I had finally gathered the courage. Now when everything Farkas had said was still fresh. I wanted to trust him, wanted to trust his judgement about his brother. If I was honest, I had no idea if and how Vilkas had changed.

Did he _deserve_ another chance? No, certainly not. Did he deserve to be happy? Even less. Did he deserve that I went out of my way and made the first step to confront him? No. He didn't deserve anything, and least of all did he deserve anything from _me_. It wasn't my responsibility to get him back on his feet. Not after all I had already done. I didn't want to get involved with this man, not again, never again.

But what I wanted wasn't the same as what would happen. What was possible. I would have to get involved with Vilkas, sooner or later. Because I couldn't come to terms with him as long as I hadn't seen him, as long as I didn't figure out where we stood. And not as long as I lived with his brother and he bared his heart to me, innocent and honest.

And what if Farkas was right? If the events had changed Vilkas really as much as they had changed me? Would it help me to deal with him personally? Perhaps. Probably. Yes, it would, at least in the long run.

We sat opposite of each other while the wagon carried us towards the Reach, quiet for hours. The wooden wheels on the cobblestones rattled my bones through and through, and I felt a dull, throbbing headache approaching. When I looked up from my crouched position on the uncomfortable bench, Farkas stared into the distance, with his thoughts far away.

But he sensed my gaze and turned to me, a small smile curling his lips.

"Back?" he asked, leaning forward and placing a hand on my knee. I covered it with my fingers, reached out for him with the other hand.

"Kiss me? Please?"

A question stood in his eyes, but he lowered his lips to mine, touched them with tenderness and affection before he leant back again.

"You think this is a good idea?"

His gaze was calm and reassuring. "I don't know, honestly. You'll have to decide. I just hope you don't expect too much." A small chortle escaped him. "Vilkas is still an ass, you know. Still the same know-it-all with his arrogance and his sarcasm. Not that you believe we're gonna meet a tamed puppy. Old habits die hard. Or never."

"I'm not afraid of him any more," I said with a crooked grin and curled my fingers into his. "Don't worry. I'll deal with him."

"Oh, I'm sure you will," he chuckled, "and I'm not sure if I'm more afraid for you or for him."

Skyhaven's main hall was empty when we entered, lit only by a few torches centred on Alduin's Wall. Now I could easily ignore it. Not even Farkas' firm grip on my sweaty fingers could calm my somersaulting stomach.

We heard the clanking of metal against metal before we opened the exit to the training ground outside, and I steeled myself when Farkas gave me a light smile over his shoulder right before he pushed the large door open. They didn't notice us at first, and we stood for a few moments, let our eyes adjust to the bright sunlight again and watched the spar.

During the fights we had gotten through together, Delphine had always impressed me with her lightfooted movements and her skill with the sword. Despite her age she danced around Vilkas with astonishing ease, and the man wearing the typical heavy Blades armour wielded his sword with the familiar, precise finesse. But what really surprised me wasn't that and how they sparred. It was that they had obviously a lot of fun.

I knew Delphine as a stern, serious woman who didn't give herself much opportunity to let her dry sense of humour break through, her head always on the task before her – and before others. Nothing stood between her and her duty, and she had pushed me along the path to Alduin with unrelenting determination and discipline. Faltering, hesitating, backing off – these were options that didn't exist.

And now I saw her, circling her opponent, trying to lure him out of his cover with elegant feigned and real attacks, grinning and sweating and throwing friendly, teasing insults at him that proved how familiar they were with each other. And I saw Vilkas repay her in the same fashion.

They had fun. I was speechless.

Farkas looked at me with an arched eyebrow and a shrug, but he couldn't suppress a grin of his own when he cleared his throat audibly and two heads spun around. He drew his weapon and entered the yard.

"You look tired, brother, let me take over. Do you mind, Delphine?"

Farkas literally vanished from my eyesight when my vision narrowed on the man suddenly standing alone at the edge of the training ground. He stood stiff and tense, his fist clenching in an unconscious struggle around the hilt of the long, slim, slightly curved blade that looked a lot like Dragonbane, only double its size. His shoulders were bunched up and his eyes riveted unbelievingly on his brother, before he turned to me. He stared at me with the same intensity with which I was fixed on him and I felt how he tried to shut down, to back away and protect himself, frustration and anxiety flowing from him in violent waves. But I locked him with my presence and my unyielding glare, and he was frozen, we were both frozen in this place and in this moment. I would not let him get away. Now, it were just the two of us. Again.

He felt my grip on him, my wolf reaching out for her pack-brother and my senses searching for his reactions. I had learned to tone them down, not to let the impressions others forced on me overwhelm me, but now I opened my mind to everything Vilkas sent out, bonded with my wolf to make use of her powers and her instincts. And he knew what I did, he was straitened and trapped, and in helpless defence he tried to bar his mind, to close himself away from my scrutiny.

But I looked through him, and again I felt that rush of power. So much was struggling in him, a barrage of emotions. Anger, frustration, fear and distrust. Curiosity. Pride. The urge to escape. And below all this – a lingering base of regret, relief and compliance.

_You can't hide from me, brother. I know you. And you will know me._

I set one foot before the other, my own pulse pounding in my ears, made my way in slow steps around the place. Around me, everything seemed to be quiet, deadly quiet. Nothing counted but that man I had in my grip and whom I approached now until I stood before him, invading his personal space just like his mind.

He fought, but he didn't break away. He couldn't, not against my will, not against my strength. A strength I didn't know I had and even less where it came from. I forced him to endure my examination, and then I forced him to acknowledge me. My wolf reached out for him and I let her, and his gaze on my face became probing when he took me in. He searched and I let him find, showed him my own frustration, anger and fears, built up and altered over and over again. My own hate and distrust, nervousness and vulnerability.

I had the strength to let him in. I had the strength to show him that I didn't have to hide any more. That he couldn't hurt me any more.

I proved myself, to him and most importantly to myself.

The tension broke when he stumbled away with a suppressed gasp, craving for release with a pleading glance. He turned on his heels and vanished into the building, and when he was gone I felt as if a weight was lifted from me, as if breathing was easier suddenly. The noises were back, and I seated myself on a boulder at the edge of the cliff, the stone warm beneath my crossed legs, and turned my attention back to the fight.

Dust hung densely over the small, unpaved place, the air dry and still. Nothing was audible but the fighters' erratic steps, the clashing of metal, heavy breathing and the occasional panted curse from Farkas. Delphine was giving him a hard time, attacking him mainly from his blind left side and forcing him to use his shield much more proactively than he was used to. And more often than not he wasn't fast enough or miscalculated her motions, and she hit him with fast, shallow strikes. His annoyed grunts made her grin, but they were both equally relentless, and it didn't look as if they wanted to stop any time soon.

I wasn't surprised that Vilkas returned. He had changed into simple clothes and washed away the warpaint, and the change made him look younger than I remembered him. He approached me cautiously, a blank expression on his face, but he handed me a bottle of ale, careful not to brush my fingers.

He settled down on the ground, leant against the boulder I sat on, and we watched the spar like we had done it a hundred times in Jorrvaskr.

His chin pointed at Farkas. "What happened?" His voice was rough.

Of course his first question would be the one after his brother.

"Chaurus acid."

"I see."

It was a bland, tense, awkward meal we shared in the evening, with the Blades and Vilkas on one side of the long table in the main hall and Farkas and me opposite of them. The conversation didn't want to get going, none of us knowing what to talk about. Too much was going on that wasn't their business.

Only Esbern was completely oblivious to the nearly palpable tension in the air, but his probing questions about Alduin, his impatience and his way to remind me that the fate of the world lay in my hands only set me more on edge. And I felt watched, Delphine's boring gaze not oblivious at all. She knew something was wrong, and when she finally pushed her chair back and told Esbern that they had work to do, I sighed with relief.

"You have certainly much to talk about," she said with a strained, but friendly smile. "It's nice you came to say farewell. We will miss him, you know?" She padded Vilkas lightly on the shoulder and ushered Esbern out of the hall. Farkas turned stiffly to his brother, but he waited until the clapping of the door indicated that we were alone.

"What does she mean, farewell?" His voice was only a growl.

Vilkas leant back in his chair. "I'm preparing to leave. To Morrowind." His voice was flat, his face bare of any expression.

"To Morrowind?" Farkas propped his palms on the table as if he wanted to jump up, barely containing his agitation.

"Yes. I didn't know I have to ask you for permission."

"You would have just gone? Just... vanished? To _Morrowind?_" Farkas narrowed his eyes in anger and confusion.

"And who would care if I did?" Vilkas let out a derisive snort. "You can join me, of course. If you think I need supervision. You're useless to the Dragonborn anyway."

He spoke only to Farkas, and the tension rushed from my body with the laughter that broke from my throat. Over the course of the evening, he hadn't acknowledged once that I was even present, and this situation now... it was so absurd and crazy, worse than anything I had anticipated for this encounter. Perhaps Farkas should really join him. And throw him into Red Mountain.

At least now I knew that this trip had been pointless and that Vilkas was still the same ass he had always been.

"Told you it was a stupid idea," I chuckled and stood up. "I'm tired. Let's leave early tomorrow, okay? I gotta send a courier to Jorrvaskr."

"You still let her bully you into getting up with sunrise?" Farkas' head shot around, his gaze locking on Vilkas' face. There it was, the smug, pretentious sneer we knew so good. "Oh, of course. I forgot. You're a married man now."

I could heard Farkas' teeth grind as he stared his brother down, and the grin dripped away, slowly, as if he needed his brothers' fury to realise that he had messed up. I didn't dare to move, my hand lying on his shoulder.

"You know, Vilkas... she told me you're a coward." His voice was dangerously calm. "The woman you raped has a world to save, and still she came here because I had a stupid idea. But she was right, and I was wrong. You wouldn't notice a chance if it fucking bit you." He stood up, towering over his brother. And then he reached into his neck and broke the leather band with a single, angry snap. The amulet dropped onto the table, right in front of Vilkas. "Farewell, brother."

He covered my hand with his own, but his body trembled under my palm as he turned stiffly and went towards the stairs. Vilkas stared after him, motionless and silent.

Only when we had reached the top, we heard him again. The question came so quiet that everyone else would have missed it.

"Which idea?"

Farkas froze, his hand already on the handle of the door to our room. But I turned around and looked down to him. He looked small as he sat there, alone at the huge table in the huge, gloomy hall, his hands clenched around his tankard. The flickering light of the torches made his expression unreadable. "To ask you to be my shield-brother in Blackreach," I said calmly. Not even the dim light could conceal the shock on his face.


	5. Impact

Farkas looked as if he wanted to scream as he kicked the door shut, frustration and fury struggling in his expression. I sat down at the edge of the bed and started to unbuckle my armour.

He spun around. "Why, Qhouri? Why can't he just... stop being an ass?"

The question was so absurd, and at the same time he was heartbreakingly serious. Vilkas could stop being an ass just as little as the sun could stop to rise in the morning. But it broke my heart to see him like this. His armour was a messy pile on the floor when he crawled beside me and curled into my arms.

He buried his face against my shoulder. "I don't wanna lose him, Qhouri," he muttered. "Have I lost him?"

Perhaps he had lost him long ago and just refused to believe it. I shook my head sadly. "I don't know."

"I don't know what to do now."

I nudged my finger under his chin until I could look into his face. "I know you're used to fix the mess he leaves behind. But sometimes you can't do anything, love. You have given him so much... it's his turn now. If you mean anything to him, he will have to come to you now."

"And you?"

I was aware that this disaster had at least partly taken its course because I was here. It had taken ages to prepare myself for this visit – and for Vilkas, it had been a surprise. But even if I had been willing to make a step towards him, that he lashed out with so little self-restraint against his brother killed this sentiment once and for all.

"I will leave him alone. We'll go back to our last solution." I threaded my fingers through his hair. "Perhaps he'll come to his senses one day. Perhaps he really has to start over somewhere else... even if it's in Morrowind."

"I don't understand him, Qhouri. I thought I did... but I don't." He had believed in him, had believed there could be a solution and that his brother had learned something. That something could change for all of us.

If he did, he didn't show it, and none of us could force him. Not even Farkas.

He was exhausted and restless at the same time, barely falling into an unsettled slumber, startling up over and over again. Deep inside, he waited for Vilkas to come to him. To make things right before it was too late. His nervous turning and shifting kept me awake as well.

I tried to free myself carefully from his embrace when I sensed that it was shortly before sunrise, but his hand found mine before I could get up.

"Where are you going?" he mumbled.

"Just need some fresh air. And a bite to eat." I stroked a strand of unruly hair out of his face. "I'll wake you later, okay?"

A crease formed between his brows. "You should bully me to get up."

I gave him a soft smile. "I will. When I come back and you're still asleep."

He lay on his front and had cushioned his head on his arms, the pillow clenched between them. Now he propped himself on an elbow and rubbed his good eye with his fist. "Screw it," he muttered, "let's just leave, okay?"

"And give him that satisfaction?" We would not flee this place like thieves in the night. Each of us had at least as much right to be in Skyhaven as Vilkas. "Have you ever watched the sunrise from here?"

He gave me a feeble grin. "I don't do sunrises, Qhouri. Not if I don't have to."

"But you should. It's beautiful." I pecked him on the mouth. "Take your time. We're not in a hurry."

I snatched an apple on my way out, not especially hungry. Quite the opposite, a queasy feeling had settled in my stomach, probably due to exhaustion and the constant boiling anger. I could understand Farkas' frustration and sadness, but I had come here without any expectations and had difficulties to share them. I was only furious with Vilkas. He could ignore and insult me all he wanted, but to treat his brother like that...

It would be good to leave, and it would be good to know he was gone from Skyrim altogether. I didn't need any further distractions.

There was a small cove in the rocks lining the edge of the back yard, only a niche that opened towards the cliff, providing shelter against the wind and a breathtaking view over the River Karth and the landscape.

The Reach was dangerous, harsh and hostile, but it was also beautiful as it awoke now to the new day. The dark blue velvet of the sky only began to change into lighter shades, the first tendrils of the morning light crawling over the rugged horizon. It was a stunning spectacle as the peaks of the steep, bare mountains lit up as if they were set on fire while the valleys stayed in the darkness. Being alone with myself, I felt as if it were a drama performed only for me, as if colours and light unfolded their beauty solely for my eyes.

Farkas' loss that he didn't do sunrises. I smiled when I heard someone leave the building and didn't bother to get up. He would find me anyway.

But the steps stopped abruptly in the middle of the yard, and they had a wrong rhythm to them.

Yes, Vilkas was an early riser too.

The mood was broken in an instant, anger coiling in my stomach again. I tensed when he didn't come closer and didn't say a word, stayed out of my sight and still far too near. When he cleared his throat, I shot up and turned furiously to him.

"Gods, can't you leave me alone?"

His hands were clenched into whiteknuckled fists as he stood there, stiff and tense. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

"That spot was mine." His voice was flat, and he lowered his head, avoiding my glare.

"Yours?" I scowled, my brows furrowing. "Oh." Without a further word I turned to leave. If he insisted that this place was his, I would certainly not argue. Especially not if he sought to provoke me by this ridiculous claim. Somewhere in the endless hallways I'd hopefully find a place for myself, even if the view wasn't so stunning.

But his hand reached out when I passed him. "No."

He said something else, but it was lost as my mind went blank. I froze to the spot the moment his fingers closed around my upper arm, blinding panic surging in a crushing wave through my senses. He held me, his grip unrelenting. He dared to touch me. He dared to threaten me. It was _wrong_.

I broke free with a vicious jerk and stumbled backwards, away from him. The apple fell from my hand, and I stood stunned, motionless and watched it roll towards the edge of the cliff. It vanished soundless without a trace, as if it had never been there.

"Divines…" A choked voice broke the silence, and when I turned stiffly, unbelievingly, Vilkas was staring at me, open hands held in shoulder height in a stance of helpless apology.

I didn't want an _apology_. I wanted to make him scream to drown out the scream in my head.

The red haze blurring my sight was welcome, it numbed the chaos of thoughts in my head. The pain flaring from my knuckles through my arm into my brain when my fist collided with his jaw was welcome too, it proved that I was still alive. It numbed panic and disgust and the instinct to run.

I wanted more of this, and I hit him without a word or a sound, just my fists and my body speaking for me. They crushed into his jaw and temple, his stomach, waist and ribcage. His hands came up, his forearms protecting the face, but it was more an unconscious reflex than a deliberate reaction. I hit them as well and felt the bones of his fingers break under the impact. The dull sound of my fists on his body, the way his flesh sagged and his skin split under my strikes sent shivers of satisfaction through my spine. The heat blazing through my veins was neither the dragon nor the wolf. This was just me.

He didn't fight back. He didn't even defend himself. He stood like paralysed, swaying under the barrage of my strikes, and his blood had the same colour as my fury.

"Fight, coward," I growled between clenched teeth, but he didn't react. He just fell to his knees, arms still in front of his face, cowered, doubled up, head down with his hands in his neck. My fingers were slick with his blood. My boots produced a dull thud when I kicked his ribs, once, twice, and finally a wail broke from his throat. I broke off suddenly, blood dripping from his jaw. The next kick made him slump limply to the side where he stayed, bleeding, curled into a ball. No sound was audible but his ragged, laboured breathing and my own breathless sobs as I stood above him. He didn't move.

I stumbled away, but there was nowhere to run, tears blurring my sight and bile aching in my throat. I fell to my knees, crouched with my arms pressed into my stomach, retching, coughing and crying. So much pain, inside of me and everywhere. Nothing left but pain and guilt and hate and fury, and I had nothing to let it out on and nowhere left to hide it in.

I was alone, lying in the sand of the training ground of Skyhaven Temple, curled together into a lump of sorrow and pain. The sun just rose over the horizon in a fiery ball. I was alone with all the darkness I had buried for so long and that had broken free now. My own outbreak of unbridled violence against Vilkas had shattered me to the bones, left me raw and bare.

And then strong arms closed around me, Farkas knelt down and pulled me into his lap, a firm, gentle grip pressing my head against his shoulder.

"Cry, girl. Finally. Let it all out."

He stayed with me for what felt like hours, sheltered me from the world and made himself my very own place to hide in. And he let me cry until I dozed off from sheer exhaustion, just to start up again with new sobs. Until I was an empty shell with nothing left but soreness.

The next I knew was the soothing comfort of dark stone walls around me, a dimly lit room and Farkas' presence near. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching me, and he raised his hand and cupped my cheek when our eyes met.

His voice was gentle. "Hey. How do you feel?"

There was emptiness, but also a surprising lightness. A knot had dissolved, the loose strands tingling in my stomach. But then, with sudden impact, the memory of what had happened, of what I had done flashed back, and I cringed and hid my face, shying away from him into the corner.

"Don't do that," he said softly, "it's okay."

Nothing was okay. I didn't dare to look at him. "Vilkas," I whispered, "is he...?"

"He'll live. And he would be a lot better if he had allowed Esbern to heal him."

My eyes burnt with tears again. "I wanted to kill him, Farkas." Nothing justified this outbreak. I felt only revulsion with myself. How could he be so calm?

"Yeah. So what? You wanted to do that for months, and he got away with a good thrashing. I'd say he's lucky." He drove with his fingers through his hair. "I sent him out there to you, Qhouri. I thought..."

"You sent him? Why did you do that?"

"He came to me this morning. Wanted to talk, and I told him that he will have to speak with you first."

"But he didn't … !" That weird encounter replayed in my head. I had felt offended and threatened. But perhaps I had misunderstood him. Perhaps he didn't want to chase me away. Perhaps it hadn't been an assault, but an attempt to hold me back when I wanted to leave. Perhaps he just wanted to make _conversation_.

"What did he do, Qhouri? Why did you freak out like that?"

I rubbed the knuckles of my right hand. They were sore and bruised, and the blood under my fingernails made my stomach churn. "I thought he... that he wanted me to leave. And I was angry but didn't want to argue, and then he held me back." I grabbed his arm just like Vilkas had done it with mine. "But he just wanted to speak with me. And I nearly killed him. For nothing."

He took my hand and loosened my grip on his arm. "Yeah, because you felt threatened. No one can blame you. But at least you fought, Qhouri. You didn't let it happen and you didn't run away. I guess he didn't expect that."

"But I snapped, Farkas! That's not how I handle stuff. And everything was under control before. Everything was fine." I buried my face in the crook of my arm. "What if I had shouted at him? Or changed?" That it didn't happen was a miracle all in itself. I didn't know what I was doing. The memory of his blood slick between my fingers sent a shudder over my back.

He stood up and seated himself on a chair, his hands clasped behind his head. His face was serious.

"Nothing was ever fine with Vilkas, Qhouri. Not for you. Why are we here at all? You were so angry that you wanted to shout me into the sea when I made this stupid suggestion. And next day, you alone decided to take the carriage to Markarth. Why?"

I sat curled together, knees drawn to my chest. Three days ago in Windhelm, I thought it was a good idea. I didn't really want to come here, but I thought it made sense. It didn't, obviously.

"Because… I thought perhaps you're right. If you believe in him… I thought… perhaps it helps me too to meet him, if you think it's a good idea. And you wanted to come here." I met his gaze. "But we know already that I was wrong."

"And that's what your gut told you right from the start. Why don't you trust it once in a while? We're just here because you thought that I thought it's a good idea."

"But you know me, that's my way to deal with stuff! What you said about him made me think. If I just did what my gut tells me, I'd get nothing ever done!"

"But you never trust your feelings. You always think things through and listen to others and argue and justify everything, and you never just act on your feelings. You only do what's best for me, or for us or for the Companions. Or for the rest of the world."

He spat out the last word with so much disgust it made me smile, even if it was feeble.

"And then you joke about it. You wear yourself out and laugh about it."

"But if I think you're right, why not do what you say? It's not that you've given bad advice so far."

"Gods, Qhouri… there's no right or wrong when it comes to Vilkas. You told me how much you hate him, but that's just it. You only told me, and then you talked yourself into believing that's enough. You never allowed yourself to let it out, to let him feel what you feel or to do anything that would make you feel better. You only did so much to make me feel better!"

"Should I have killed him just because I felt like it? You know it doesn't work that way. I can't just do something and stop caring, for you or for others. That'd just make everything even worse!"

"But that's exactly what you did today… when you beat the shit out of him, that was just you. You didn't think of me or of the consequences, and it was long overdue that something like this happened. And don't try to tell me you didn't feel fabulous when you beat him to pulp. I know you did."

Perhaps he was right. No. It wasn't because he was right. It was simply true, it did feel fabulous to beat Vilkas up. To break his bones and make him bleed, to cause him pain and most of all to feel his fear. He had been scared of me. It felt fantastic, this simple revenge, something so plain and yet so powerful. Without the guilt, it left only contentment behind. It did me good, this payback. I should do things that did me good more often.

"It would've been much more fun if he'd fought back." He answered my twisted grin with a chuckle. "How do you understand me so good?"

His smile was faint, but he looked at me with so much warmth that it made my stomach flutter.

"Experience, love. I've spent my whole life with someone who is stubborn to a fault and who does nothing without thinking it through. Who makes his decisions once and for all and would never do something just because he feels like it… and who clings to what he thinks is right until it breaks him."

He came over and sat down beside me, taking in my speechless stare. His calloused fingers stroked my cheek.

"You and Vilkas... sometimes you're so much alike, it's scary. I don't wanna see you break, Qhouri. Don't be so hard to yourself."

* * *

I leant in the doorframe to Vilkas' room and looked curiously around. The small chamber looked nearly like his quarters in Jorrvaskr – with his own alchemy table, a desk full of cluttered papers and parchments, some well filled bookshelves, a weapon rack and an armour stand with his Blades armour. The man had turned to the side when he sensed me coming, his face to the wall. But he didn't have the decency to draw up the blanket, showing off the bandages around his hand, shoulder and ribcage. Silent proof, reminder and accusation.

I was here because I wanted to, not because I had to. Not because I felt obliged, neither to him nor to Farkas. He had tried to hold me back, said that it would be pointless and that we'd just clash again. And that I should let it go.

But I couldn't. My husband had once said that he hated his brother for what he had done, but that he couldn't _only_ hate him. I had come to this point as well.

I didn't know when exactly, but at some point Vilkas had stopped to be my nemesis. It wasn't only that I wasn't afraid of him any more, that I could cope with him and that he owed me. With every meeting, with every reaction from him and everything I got to know about him I learned something – about him as well as about me, no matter if I wanted or not.

He had become a person again. Something else than just a monster, hateful and loathed, and he had begun to evoke more than just the raw hate I had known for so long, a hate that left no room for anything else. Now, there was pity and curiosity, and sometimes, with Farkas' assistance, a glimpse of understanding.

And now I had done wrong by him, and I wouldn't run away from it like he had done it. We needed to start some kind of communication that was more than mental or physical violence. I wanted to make this step, and I could make it only because I knew that Farkas wouldn't let me down, no matter what happened. Vilkas didn't have this safety net. He never had, because he wasn't able to trust his brother the way I did.

This visit was something I had to do for my own peace of mind, even if I came here with little expectations. The whole situation was so messed up, nothing I could try would ease it. But at least it couldn't become any worse. We had already arrived at rock bottom.

I entered the room properly and took the chair behind his desk. Not that he started to think this was just a casual visit of his sickbed.

"I heard you wanted to speak with me," I said calmly.

No reaction. Vilkas refused to turn around. It had to hurt to lie on the side for so long with a broken rib, but he'd rather suffer silently than to acknowledge my presence.

I let the silence build, knowing exactly that he was just waiting for me to lose my patience and leave. He was pathetic. I placed the dirty, dusty heels of my boots on top of his desk and folded my hands behind my head. He would hate it.

"You know, Vilkas... I had thought about making you an offer. A one-time-offer to try..."

He spun around and interrupted me with a derisive snarl. His face was a battered landscape of bruises, bloodshot lumps and cuts, one eye swollen shut, the other flaring with anger. "What? Continue where we left off? Behave like adults? Become _friends_?" Disgust and contempt dripped from his voice.

I shrugged. I came here with no expectations, and so I wasn't really taken aback by his rude answer. "No. I don't know either. Like… I was willing to start something new. To give you a chance you don't deserve. But it won't work anyway."

"You've always been naïve."

"As if you knew me good enough to judge." I stood up and went to the door. Farkas had been right again, this was utterly pointless. But I turned once more, locked his glare into mine. "I'm sorry for today, Vilkas. It's usually not my way to beat people up without reason, and... it shouldn't have happened."

I heard him suck in the air with a surprised hiss as I left the room.

Farkas more lay than sat on the stairs to the training yard, propped on his elbows and a bottle of ale beside him, and watched Delphine's archery training. I knew he could do that for hours and be happy. I ignored her suspicious look and hunched down beside him.

"What did you tell her?" I asked lowly.

Farkas shrugged. "Nothing. That it's not her business and that she should ask Vilkas." That would be a conversation where I'd like to be a fly on the wall. He eyed me curiously. "How did it go?"

"You were right. He's a spoiled brat." I pressed a kiss on his cheek. "I go out. Gotta kill something. And tomorrow we're definitely off."

The ragged terrain surrounding Skyhaven was perfect for a hunting trip. It provided excellent cover, and one never knew what to expect behind the next hill – a couple of sabrecats bathing in the sun, a Forsworn camp, goats climbing over chasms nothing on invisible, unreachable paths or just a breathtaking view.

To be alone out here, without backup and all on my own was my way to relax and to clear my mind. It challenged me and every bit of my skill, required full attention of body and mind. Not possible to chase a rabbit, save the world and deal with stupid relatives at the same time – and now, the rabbit had priority over everything else.

I worked myself out, crawled through the gorges and over the craggy peaks around the Temple that sloped steeply down to the river and gathered a scratched collection of small game – some rabbits, a pheasant, a few keats I knew Esbern would love and even a fox, more for the pretty pelt than his meat.

The rushing noise of a small waterfall at the bottom of the former Karthspire camp the Blades and I had so thoroughly erased lured me to a secluded little pond. I was flushed, sweaty and gritty, dust had crawled through the seams of my armour and chafed my skin. A shower would be perfect.

I stood under the gushing waters, groaning with contentment as the icy spray rinsed away the layers of dirt when I heard the yelling. Angry, hostile yelling in a language I didn't understand. A shattered Forsworn patrol had tracked me down and attacked on sight.

No way I'd get into my armour in time, but at least I had the foresight to place sword and shield on a rock within reach. I dived out of the water and waited for them at the edge of the pond. My warcry easily matched theirs.

Three warriors to take on alone were exactly the challenge I needed to bring this day to a lucky end. A woman wielding two swords that looked as if they were carved out of a monstrous spine charged ahead with a furious scream and tried with fast strikes to get behind my cover. Another fighter aimed his bone axe at my neck, and the third came after me with two daggers.

I had to fight for my life, and everything else became insignificant. An injured husband? He would heal. An insane in-law? Not much more than a nuisance. A world-eating dragon? Irrelevant. Nothing of all this was worth bothering when their weapons slashed at me. Their life or mine, that was all that mattered. I felt my wolf stir, but kept her on a tight leash. This was my job.

If they had hoped I was defenceless just because I was naked, they were wrong. The missing weight was an advantage in dodging their frantic attacks, and my shield still provided more protection than the weird assortment of furry rags they wore. The woman reached me first and slashed at me with a flurry of movements. I backed away along the waterline and bent backwards, her blades scissoring harmless in front of my chest. She was swift and agile and gave me no break, but her fighting style relied on fast attacks only, and she took neither in account that Dragonbane had the longer reach nor that my shield was a weapon as well.

She died with red hot blood bubbling out of her mouth and silencing her scream.

The other two came both at once. While my shield protected me from Twin-dagger's fast attacks and Dragonbane tried to find a way around it and into his flesh, the axe of the third nearly connected with my neck. Holy Daedra, that guy was fast. And fierce. And crazy. When he didn't bare his teeth and snarl obscenities, he babbled unintelligible syllables of which I was quite sure that they didn't form coherent words, let alone thoughts. But he was fast and strong, and unsettling unpredictable.

When his companion finally fell from my blade, the gaze of the last one followed the plunge of the body into the water with clear insanity in his eyes, drivel dripping from his chin. An earshattering yell followed, and he darted towards me, his crude axe held in both hands high over his head like a twohanded weapon, ready to split my skull. I caught it with my shield and wrenched it from his grip as the blade got caught between the talons. His expression when Dragonbane slashed his throat was one of utter confusion. No wonder the Forsworn were also called the Madmen of the Reach.

I had suffered a nasty gash through the muscle of my right thigh, but my laughter echoed loud through the little valley when I had washed the blood from my skin and donned one of their headdresses – an odd thing made of antlers and fur, the face framed by the fangs of sabrecats. It reeked of sour sweat and rotting leather, but I wore it as my trophy.

It was long dark when I returned to the temple, but inside it didn't matter, the huge hall always alight in the same, gloaming twilight. Only Alduin's Wall was brightly lit by a line of torches over the relief, and the impressive carvings greeted me with their familiarity. The huge dragon scooping down on the tiny mortals seemed to follow me with his eyes as I paced out the chapters of the story.

"See that, Worldeater?" I grabbed the antlers on top of my head, stuck out my tongue and let out a giggling sneer from behind the fangs. "See who will come for you, you bloody worm? I'm gonna feed you your balls, I swear!" I poked the stonen snout that just released a fire blast on the men below it. "I really hope you have balls I can feed you. And if not, better grow some! You don't wanna disappoint me, do you?"

A dark chuckle interrupted my onesided dialogue with the dragon, making me jump back with a yelp.

"Are you drunk, Dragonborn?" Vilkas sat on a stone bench in a dark corner at the far end of the hall, his words slightly slurred. He wasn't completely drunk, but he wasn't sober either. Of course I didn't smell him earlier with that reeking helmet, but that he was able to startle me like that made me angry with myself anyway.

I pulled the thing with a nervous motion off my head. This was the second time that day I thought I was alone and felt good and he destroyed the mood. And he still didn't know better. "No, I'm not. And you stop being so... bloody exhausting!" Fast steps carried me towards the stairs to the quarters until his low voice let me stop dead.

"Qhourian?" He waited until I had turned, holding up a nearly empty bottle of Colovian Brandy. "Drink with me?"

His face didn't look any better than a few hours before. But now it showed a plea that seemed entirely strange on these features that were usually frozen in a scornful scowl.

I hesitated. "I prefer to drink with people I like," I said coldly.

He drew back the outstretched arm and instead emptied the bottle with one long gulp.

"No," he muttered, "you've no reason …" His eyes were fixed on my face. "Please. At least listen. Just a few minutes. You'll be gone again tomorrow."

"Why should I let you throw more insults at me?"

His gaze was hazy, flitting from my face to Alduin and back. "Please," he pressed out.

I seated myself reluctantly at the table, far enough away to be out of his direct vicinity, and nodded slowly.

His brows furrowed from the effort to bring himself to speak, his hands clutching the empty bottle nervously. A muscle in his jaw flexed. "What you said today... you beat me to it. I should have said it. I wanted to... but I don't know how."

"I know you wanted, Vilkas," I said calmly. "And I know you feel bad. You wanted, but you didn't. You never did, neither to me nor to your brother."

He swallowed heavily. "Would it make a difference? If I apologised? If I thanked you for everything you've done?"

No, it wouldn't. It wouldn't change that he was a pitiable, arrogant, pathetic ass and that he would always be more sorry for himself than for anyone else. And that his gratitude was utterly worthless, because nothing I had done was for him.

I wanted to tell him that I wished him to Oblivion or into the depths of Red Mountain, that I had found out that revenge was something I could get used to and that he had pushed it too far.

I had the power to kick him even further into this abyss of self-loathing and distrust that he had digged for himself, but it only meant more responsibility. I didn't want it, and I did not say what went through my mind. I couldn't. I knew too much about him.

I propped my chin into my palm. "Has Farkas straightened you out that you're so tame suddenly?"

He blanched, visible even in the flickering light. "He doesn't know that I've waited for you."

"That's no answer to my question. Has he?"

He gritted his teeth. "No. He just refused to speak with me tonight." At least he was honest.

"So he has."

"I've nothing to lose, Qhourian. You'll be gone in a few hours anyway. It can't get any worse, can it?"

The silence around us was like a cocoon. Not a sound was audible, the world outside of this hall and every other soul blocked off by the thick walls of the temple. In this moment, there was nothing and nobody else but the two of us, fallen back on each other.

"You declined, Vilkas. I meant it when I said I want to start something new. Or try to, at least. But you declined." I sighed. "Honestly, I don't care for your reasons. You've cost me too much already… I need my strength for more important things than your conscience."

He shrank under my words, and when I took him in, how he sat there in the dim light, eyes, expression, his whole posture so anxiously fixed on my reaction… something had left him. His nervous alertness, this constant readiness to lash out, to defend himself had drained from his body. He was only tired, helpless and hopeless. And even if he couldn't say it… he felt the guilt, the grief and the remorse. I knew it was there.

He lowered his head, his gaze directed to the floor. "You think I'm a coward, and perhaps you're right. I was a coward today when you came and made that offer." Now he stared at me with wide open eyes. "Gods, you came to me, and I…" His voice trailed off, and I felt the self-loathing rolling off him in waves.

He made me sick with his self-pity and the disguised expectations that were wrapped up in it. The demand to help him, to give him a chance.

"You really think I'm interested in a half-baked apology? Seriously? I don't care how bad you feel. If you've nothing to lose… why don't you just say what you want? Don't try to force me to make you an offer by calling upon my pity. That's pathetic."

He was hurt. Good. But he also straightened himself, with clenched teeth and his body tense like a drawn bow, full of desperate determination.

"Your pity!" It was spewed with a bitter smile. "No." He leant forward, his icy gaze piercing. "But you're right, I want an offer from you. I want a chance to prove myself. I want to be your shield-brother in Blackreach."

Wow, that was straightforward. My laughter was mirthless. "So, you've changed your mind? Again? Give me a single reason why I should even consider it. Only one. After everything that has happened today."

The hint of a grin appeared on his face. "I'm the best for that kind of job, and you'll need the best." But then he averted his eyes from my gaze, fixed them instead on the wall behind me as if he wanted to memorise it.

I rubbed my temples with the tips of my thumbs. "No, I don't need the best, I can take care of myself. I need someone I can trust. A shield-brother, not a hireling. And I don't trust you."

His voice was shallow. "I was a Companion too. I know what you need down there. And I will protect you with my life."

This man drove me crazy. He sent out so many different, conflicting signals that I had no idea what to take seriously and what not. My wit had betrayed me as often as my instinct when it came to Vilkas, and how often had I already been tempted to write him off, to close this chapter once and for all? And still… I had saved him from Hircine. I had taken his gift. I came for him to Skyhaven Temple, and now I sat here and _argued_.

My fingers drove through my hair. "For Kyne's sake, why, Vilkas? Why now? I already know that I'll regret that I even speak with you. But everything would be so much easier if you weren't so damned difficult."

"You're spoiled by my brother." There was no malice in his words.

"Smartass. You could learn a lot from him."

"I know." It became quiet between us as I watched him curiously. It worked in him, a deep frown creasing his forehead. The knuckles of his fists were white when his head jerked up and he met my gaze. "I need your help, Qhourian. I know I can't fix what I destroyed. But I want to start over, rebuild whatever possible and go on. I want a home again." He took a deep breath. "That's what I want. I don't know if I'm gonna get it, but I have to start somewhere. I have to start with you, and I need your help."

Expectations and demands. I looked at him for long minutes, but he didn't back off, endured my inquiring stare with an expression of determination that was frighteningly similar to Farkas'. With this confession he had given himself into my hands. There it was again, the responsibility I didn't want. The power over him. That he acknowledged the fact, that he openly asked for my help made it even worse, because it was so utterly out of character for him.

Or perhaps, it was exactly what he aimed for. Because he knew about my feelings, that I didn't want this burden to be responsible for him. Perhaps he enjoyed to bring me into this predicament, even if it cost him his own dignity. This kind of honesty... it could hurt as much as betrayal.

I fought with myself, my thoughts clouded with doubts. Could I afford to take the risk? Farkas was convinced his brother would do a good job. My instinct told me otherwise – he was too skittish, too incalculable. With Athis I'd be on the safe side, and I would have fun. With Vilkas… this was gonna be a long, exhausting, difficult, dangerous trip. Even if everything else went fine, we romped through Falmer, chaurus and Dwemer machines and found the scroll without further problems, we'd probably split our skulls rather sooner than later. What if he snapped again? What if _I_ snapped?

But I had stopped to ask those _What ifs_ long ago.

I pinched the back of my nose, tired and uncertain. We could argue all night, and it would take us nowhere. It would do nothing to resolve my doubts. "Blackreach is a job, Vilkas, not a trip to spend some quality time. When I go down there, nothing counts but the blasted Scroll I have to find. I can't afford to tend to your conscience. Or other sensitivities."

He nodded. "I know that."

I knew beforehand that this wouldn't work, that we couldn't just leave everything behind and start over with a blank page. He knew it as well, but perhaps he would at least try.

I took a deep breath. "We will leave tomorrow. Early. You can join us till Morthal. If it works, we'll take it from there."

When I stood up and turned towards the stairs, exhausted to the bones, a rare, tentative smile formed on his face. A smile that vanished at once when I couldn't resist a last remark. "And you should see Esbern, or you won't be able to keep up."

"Mmmh, you've bathed," Farkas mumbled and buried his nose in my neck when I crawled beside him, shivering with fatigue. "And you're cold!" He drew me into his warmth. "Why are you so cold? I thought you were just out hunting?"

I snuggled against him. "Yeah… I'm just exhausted. Had to kill some obnoxious Forsworn. And then I came back and your obnoxious brother caught me. That guy really wears me out."

"What did he do?" The question came as a low growl.

"At first he wanted to drink with me. And then he tried to argue me into taking him to Blackreach."

"You're not serious."

I shrugged. "I can't believe it either. Must be the family charm." I gave him a lazy smile. "He will join us tomorrow. Till Morthal. And you're not gonna let me alone with him."

"I can't believe it." It was quiet for a moment. "Family charm, hm? And yet you need me to protect you?" he teased.

"Yeah," I grinned, "because Vilkas has threatened to protect me with his life." I rolled to my back and stared at the ceiling. "He said he needs my help, Farkas. From Vilkas… that's scary. I'm not sure if I'm ready for that."

He lay on his side, his head propped into his palm. "I know how you feel. Vilkas has a way to make demands even when he apologises. What does your gut say?" His index trailed circles around my navel. It tickled. And it was distracting. I knew that he knew exactly how distracting it was when a wolfish grin appeared on his face.

"It's as confused as the rest of me." I forced myself to lie still, not to twitch under his touch.

"One moment I wanna slap him." He nodded with faux graveness.

"Then I wanna cuddle him." The tickling stopped abruptly, and the corners of my mouth twitched as my self-restraint failed.

"You want _what?_"

I looked innocently up into his face. "Cuddle him. And then I just wanna leave and forget that he exists at all."

His grin grew even broader when I started to giggle. His lips hovered over mine. "Fabulous idea." No chance to push his hands away if he liked where they were. Instead he just locked my wrists above my head. "You know…" he chuckled when I tried in vain to squirm away, "that's a family trait too. Being exhausting."

I bit my cheek to suppress my laughter and felt his amusement rumble through his chest, a deep noise somewhere between a growl and a purr. "You're not interested at all in my troubles!"

"No," he laughed and nibbled at my neck for emphasis, "I'm concerned about something else."

"And what?"

His gaze held mine with so much desire that it made my stomach flutter and let go of my hands. I slung my arms around his neck and pulled him closer until he had buried me completely beneath him.

"No quality time for us with him around," he whispered into my ear.

"Shall I tell him that I withdraw my offer?"

"No. We will work it out. We always do." And then he kissed me like only he could kiss me, tender and patient, fierce and demanding, devoured my mouth as if it was his last meal and nothing was left but his taste, his breath on my face and the feeling of his lips on mine.


	6. Talsgar's Tale

Our parting from Skyhaven was awkward and curt. Esbern didn't even show up, and Delphine only clasped my wrist and wished me luck. I hadn't told her in detail what the next stages of my hunt after Alduin were, and she felt obviously left out. She didn't like it either that she didn't know what was going on between the twins and me, and least did she like that Vilkas left with us although I had beaten him to clump the day before.

We watched them say goodbye from a distance out of hearing range, and still it was weird to see the obvious affection they shared. Vilkas and Delphine - both were the last people I would have expected to like someone else and show it. But perhaps that was exactly the reason why she searched his face with so much concern and he let her pull him into a hug.

But he didn't look back when the doors swang shut behind us, and somehow I was glad that we were finally on our own.

None of us even suggested to take the carriage. The way to Morthal would take us at least three days to walk, but we needed this time. The routine of travelling together with all the little duties that came with it would force us to work together, help us to get used to each other – and let us find out if this could work.

We soon fell into a steady pace that ate away the distance and could easily be kept up from dawn till dusk. But after the first miles in awkward silence I left the men alone, scouted ahead or trailed behind them to give them opportunity to speak. If anyone was able to break the ice it was Farkas, and it was important that the brothers got along. More than anything I valued his judgement, and if he didn't trust his brother, this whole endeavour was doomed right from the start.

I didn't have to hear what they talked about to see how close they were. Even as they were quiet at first, their strides adjusted and matched. And then there were tentative words that rose into shouts and scattered away again, quiet mumbling and heated arguments. The wind blew away the meaning, but I watched them closely. Their shoulders seemed to form one long line when dark heads leant into each other, their gestures strikingly similar, even if Farkas' were wide and open where Vilkas' were sharp and precise. And when I heard Farkas' laughter roar up and his palm crushed flat into Vilkas' back, I felt relief surge up.

I joined them again after a few hours for a short first rest, bringing two marmots to roast. Farkas came to meet me and took them from my hands. "You okay?" I asked lowly.

His smile flared up. "Yeah." His head dipped down, and he kissed me softly. "I love you, you know?"

He wasn't willing to allow me to take myself out of their company for longer.

"Just told Vilkas of our wedding," he chuckled as we sat around a small fire, and to my great astonishment it was clearly amusement that quirked the corners of his brother's mouth, "and now you've got to tell how you met that Brynjolf fellow for the first time."

"Did Esbern never tell you the story how he got out of the Ratway in Riften?" I turned to Vilkas.

"Oh yes, he did. He complained about the inexcusable things the Dragonborn did to him. The worst was the dog, he said. I guess he meant Snowback?"

I was surprised that he even knew his name. "Yeah. He was with me all the time back then." My faithful companion, I hoped Ria took good care of him. We all knew that he had been the only one and why I was so dependent on him, and for a moment the silence became laden. I forced my thoughts back to Brynjolf.

"I'd really like to know how Delphine got to know him, but she pointed me to Brynjolf as my contact to Esbern. Didn't tell me who and what he was, though, and before he would help me, he forced me to crawl through the sewers and find him in the Ragged Flagon. Gods, it was horrible. I wanted to kill him." I shook myself.

"Just good that you didn't," Farkas laughed, "or we'd have had a real problem. But I liked that guy."

"You like everybody, brother. Even thieves," Vilkas teased.

"Yeah, so what?" There was an edge in Farkas' voice that Vilkas obviously wasn't used to. "I'm not that bad at estimating people. And a mead on your tab takes you further than a blade to the throat." He grinned at him over my head. "We could visit them together. A nice little tavern they have down there."

"Pshaw," Vilkas retorted, "crawl through Riften's waste for a lousy drink? Certainly not."

"You don't have to. They have a back door in the graveyard."

Vilkas' head jerked up. "_You_ know the secret entrance to the Thieves guild headquarter?"

"Yep. Rune showed me. And Athis too."

"Rune? What kind of name is that?"

"A false one. But they're used to us Companions in the meantime," I said with a snicker. "In fact, I thought about a cooperation. Their skills could be useful... occasionally."

His face closed down into a deep frown. "They're thieves. Scum with false names."

"But they're nice, once you know them. Athis thinks so too. They even wanted to poach him."

"They really are," Farkas said, poking the fire to avoid Vilkas' speechless glare. "Brynjolf didn't pilfer Maramal's donation box. That was pretty nice."

"And they made a party for us. Now we owe them," I added.

"But they're honourless vermin!" Vilkas barked out. The dagger he used to cut the meat pointed accusingly at me. "What comes next, the Dark Brotherhood?"

"Dunno," I shrugged, "do they have a tavern?"

"We should ask the next assassin they send," Farkas said dryly.

"Yep. And while we're at it, I'd really like to know who has done the Black Sacrament for me."

Vilkas mouth stood open. "You're not serious."

"Of course I'm serious. I want nothing to do with them if they can't serve a proper drink."

"They should be happy to cooperate." Farkas nodded gravely. "That job with you is a waste of perfectly fine murderers, after all."

"Yeah. And if not… I still need a cloak to match their armour."

"You have taken their armour? And you _wear_ it?" Vilkas looked horrified.

"Hey, it's hot! Black and red leather. Tight. I really want a set for Farkas." I had massive difficulties to stifle my giggle as I gave my husband a lascivious once-over, and he bit his lower lip hard. A choked noise came from his throat. My gaze turned to Vilkas. "It would suit you too."

His face grew red with mortified embarrassment. "I would never …!" But Farkas burst before he could finish the sentence, bending over and howling with laughter. I gave in and joined into his guffaw, leaning over his back. Vilkas' miffed expression was hilarious.

Finally he straightened himself, forcing himself to become serious. "Don't worry, brother. I swear on my honour and by all the Divines that I will never wear Dark Brotherhood armour." He cleared his throat, the corners of his mouth twitching. "In public."

Vilkas swallowed a gulp of air, his gaze shifting from his brother to me and back. He closed his mouth with conscious effort. "Not funny," he pressed out between clenched teeth. "Gods, you're so made for each other."

"Yeah, we are, aren't we?" Farkas bent down to me and smacked a kiss on my lips, and Vilkas' irritated grunt only rekindled our laughter.

Shortly after we crossed the Karth River we left the comfort of the road and turned northwards into the mountains. In opposite to other holds, the streets of the Reach were less safe than the wilderness, with their Thalmor patrols and abandoned forts by the roadside that were often manned with Forsworn. We would meet it again not far south of Dragons Bridge, and from there we'd make our way into the swamps of Hjaalmarch.

This first day of our journey went by surprisingly smooth. Of course we were cautious with each other… well, mostly. Vilkas and I were cautious, Farkas simply wasn't able to. He always said what went through his mind or he said nothing at all, and it was impossible for him to stay quiet when he was happy – and he was so obviously happy now that it was heart-melting, and his plain, unsophisticated good mood was infectious and rubbed off not only on me. More than once I saw a cheerful smile flare up when he looked at us, and when Vilkas caught me watching him with an amused smile, even his lips curled in sympathy.

Nobody could embrace a simple moment of happiness as wholeheartedly and innocent as Farkas, without a thought of the future. I envied him for this ability.

It was mostly our routine that made travelling so easy. Everybody knew what had to be done, nobody let his guard down, we looked out for each other. I went hunting during the afternoon, and when I didn't show up at the agreed meeting point at the agreed time, the men waited for me without complaint. Farkas cooked for us in the evening, and we split the watches evenly. Not once did we argue about all these mundane tasks, and it made everything else equally uncomplicated. Astonishing uncomplicated.

Everything went fine until the early evening of the second day. We had left Dragon Bridge behind and were already looking for a suitable campsite in the foothills of the Reach when we met the wandering minstrel.

"Talsgar!" Farkas and I cried out in unison. _Everybody_ knew the bard, apparently.

I recognised him at once, the white curls, his friendly sunburnt face and the lute that was slung to his back, carefully wrapped into waxed cloth. When we found him, he stood between the bodies of two shabby and very dead bandits, a look of sadness on his face although the glow of a lightning spell still rested in his palm.

A look that changed first into confusion and then into delighted surprise when we called him out.

"My, if that isn't the lady with the swift blade and my favourite Companion," he smiled and extended a greeting hand.

"What happened?" I looked around.

"Oh… nothing. They made a mistake."

"Looks like that," Farkas grunted. "Are you injured?"

He shook his head, his gaze shifting to the darkening sky. "No. But I have to go."

"But it's getting late," I said. "You wanna join us? We're about to make camp. It's not safe alone."

The bard looked hesitantly from me to the men, took in Farkas' inviting expression and Vilkas' open scowl. I didn't care what he thought. Talsgar, as short as our meeting back then had been, had played a much more important role in my life than they'd ever know. Than he knew himself, probably.

I smiled encouragingly at him, but he shook his head.

"I've something to do first. Perhaps I'll find you later. You know I'm good at finding things." A small, ironic smile quirked his lips before he vanished between the hills.

Perhaps it was better this way. Vilkas' inquiring gaze showed his suspiciousness.

"That's the madman who'd rather sing for foxes and butterflies than to get a proper audience in an inn. Where do you know him from?"

I wouldn't give away Athis' secret. "Not your business, Vilkas." I turned to Farkas. "And yours neither, so don't even ask."

"But you can't just invite some stranger with questionable reputation to our camp."

"Oh yes, I can. You've seen how I can."

The sudden tension in the air was palpable. Of course I didn't _really_ know this bard. Yes, to invite him was spontaneous and perhaps too rash. But Vilkas was by all means the last to tell me not to listen to my guts when I felt like it.

"He's no stranger, Vilkas. You know how long I know him already," Farkas said in an effort to ease the mood.

"How do you know him?" I asked.

A gentle smile played around his lips. "I met him the first time when he was only a pup on his way to the college in Solitude."

"A pup?" I couldn't imagine Talsgar as a young man. He had something ancient and ageless at the time about him. I looked at him with wide eyes. "But that would mean…"

"Yeah. I was seven and out on my first job with Jergen. We saved him from some bandits."

Vilkas pressed his lips into a firm line, but he let it go. For now.

But when I came back from my search for firewood, I couldn't avoid to hear the twins argue. Not that they really tried to keep quiet. I dropped into a crouch and eavesdropped shamelessly.

"It's a singing mage, Farkas! He isn't trustworthy! How can you defend her when she invites shabby strangers to our fire and brings us all into danger?"

"That guy is no danger and you know it. And if he's trustworthy or not is not yours to decide. She'll have her reasons."

"Aye, and don't you think it's suspicious that even _you_ don't know her reasons? Who knows what history they have!"

Farkas' voice was dangerously low. "You don't wanna go there, Vilkas, be careful. I know her history with you, and still you're here. Better hold your tongue."

The sudden flash that went over his face didn't stop him to argue. "You're naïve, brother. Always have been, always will be. Be as gullible as you want… if he shows up tonight I'll have my eyes on him."

I entered the clearing. "Do that, Vilkas. I'm sure we'll all feel much safer when you watch over us. Oh, and I don't have a _history_ with Talsgar. I only met him once."

He bared his teeth at me in an angry snarl. Seemed he had to relearn what it meant to be amongst pack. I dropped my armful of wood in the middle of the camp and poked him in the chest.

"Relax. And stop fighting your brother just because he thinks I know what I'm doing."

He didn't like to be touched, and he it liked even less by me, even if it was just an index to the breastplate. A shiver ran through him, but then he pulled himself together, and a lopsided smirk appeared in his uptight features.

"Or what? You're gonna send me to bed without dinner?"

I shot him a grin over my shoulder as I started the fire. "Don't give me ideas."

Somehow, the tension had dissolved.

Talsgar approached our camp with enough noise to make himself known from miles away, but Vilkas still thought it appropriate to greet him with his hand on the hilt of his sword. But the bard seemingly ignored the gesture and Vilkas' scowl and took the place I offered him beside me with a grateful smile. Farkas shovelled without any ado the remains of our stew into a bowl and handed it to him.

He nodded thankfully, then looked expectantly in the round. "And with whom do I have the pleasure?"

And I remembered. He didn't even know my name. Athis didn't tell him who I was, I never told him either, and then I chased him away. I blushed furiously.

"You know Farkas already, and this is his brother Vilkas," I gestured over to him. "And my name's Qhourian."

Farkas looked perplexed, his eyes narrowing. "I thought you've met before?"

"Oh, we have, we have. We just haven't been introduced properly," the bard admitted cheerfully. I didn't miss the meaningful glance Vilkas gave his brother, and I couldn't blame him. This had to look weird.

Talsgar did the same he had done when he came to my camp: he made himself comfortable, in his friendly, natural, slightly disturbing way. I was sure that he was by no means oblivious to the reactions of the twins – Farkas friendly and curious, Vilkas' suspicion only poorly hidden – and just as he didn't bother about my reaction back then, he didn't bother now. Or he was certain to be able to scatter this suspiciousness… after all, he had broken even through my walls.

It was silent while he ate with relish and we watched him quietly, but somehow it wasn't an awkward silence. Even Vilkas' scowl had lost a bit of its harshness, and the way he sat by the fire, his long legs stretched towards the flames and braced on his arms behind his back, he looked nearly content. I leant against Farkas' shoulder, his arm loosely slung around my waist.

If it took this stranger to make us relax like this in each other's company, it had been a good idea to invite him.

Finally Talsgar had emptied his bowl and put it down with a content groan. "That was truly delicious," he bowed his head slightly, "thank you, friends. And thank you for the invitation. A night in warmth and safety is a gift that is very much appreciated."

I handed him a bottle of ale. "Will you play something for us? Please?" But he rejected the drink with a gentle smile.

"I just need some water," he said and took a small kettle and a leather pouch out of his pack. It contained dry herbs, and the brew he made smelled the same as the one he had served me that morning.

"Nothing better to make a bright day even brighter. Or to light up a dark night," he said and sipped at his tankard, his lute already resting in his lap. His eyes searched mine over the brim. "I can sing you a song, of course. Or we can sing together. Or I can tell you a story." He tilted his head, and his gaze wandered expectantly from face to face.

His fingers flitted over the strings, in a lazy, natural motion, and the soft tune he elicited from the instrument didn't disturb the silence at all. It was the silence of the night, with all the small noises and scents that came with it, enhanced by the darkness. His play fit right in.

"A story. Please." It was Vilkas who spoke.

"A tale it is then." He never stopped playing, the sound soothing like a caress as he gathered his thoughts.

"I will tell you a tale that originates from here… from the Reach. It's the history of the Reachmen, how they lost their freedom and their land. And it's the legend of a hero and a prophecy, of an unholy pact and betrayal, the search for power and the price that is to pay."

He let the words sink in for a moment. They struck a chord in each of us… familiar on a level that was far more personal than mere interest in a thrilling story. I was sure he could feel the anticipation they had evoked when he started to speak.

"The Empire was young and called the Alessian and the Reach was still a free land when these events took place, its people a proud folk, different in their habits, language and beliefs from all the races around them. But they were cornered from all sides and were distrustful against everyone, even against their own brethren. Many small kingdoms warred here against each other, and only their sages had the power to unite them through forecast and prophecy in hours of great need.

"One day a boy was born in the Sundered Hills, in the heart of the land, and he received the name of the eagle circling around the peaks of the mountains and the blood flowing down the steeps of the hills. Faolan, Red Eagle he was called, and the Augurs looked at the stars and tied his name to his destiny: to be a warrior without peers, to be the one to unite his people and to bring freedom and peace.

"And a warrior he became, the greatest of them all, true to his fate. He vanquished rivals and opponents and rose to leadership, became strong in a time of need for his land. The Empress of the South was lusting after the rich realms of the North. Broaden her influence, unite the peoples under her banner – and get access to the treasures beyond her borders, that was what she wanted. The Reach was as barren then as it is today, but its mines laden with silver, iron and gems were highly coveted – as they still are.

"One by one the Kings of the Reach fell to the Empress' forces, either to their knees or into their grave. Only Faolan, young but powerful, was not willing to yield. He stood proud and strong against the invaders, refused their bargains and sent back their bribes, stout to fight and die for his people's freedom rather than to surrender to their twisted promises. But he was too young and too proud and too rash, loath to listen to the advice of his counsellors, and in the end he was deceived not by his foes but by those he trusted, by the weak-hearted who chose a life under a foreign tyranny over their own ways and the war that was inevitable.

"The Augurs and Sages, those who had forecast his fate and made him the man he was, they abandoned him now and with him the fate of their people. The Red Eagle was defrauded of his land, his power and his very name.

"He was betrayed, but he was not broken. A prophecy once spoken cannot be abjured, a destiny can only be formed, but not be rewritten. Faolan gathered those who were true to him and went into hiding, claiming the caves and crevices of the land as his kingdom. He became the untamed spirit of the Reach, hurling revenge at Imperials and traitors alike, and his followers grew in numbers, hope and strength under the Alessian oppression."

Talsgar's voice was soft and low, and his fingers treated the strings as if they had a life of their own. He spoke slowly, completely withdrawn into himself, his gaze lowered to the body of his instrument. Not once did he look up to search for our reaction, so different from the bards I knew from the cities. So different from Mikael who was always in touch with his audience, who craved for every small sign of appraisal as if he needed it like the air to breathe.

The bard became a weaver of sounds, tunes and words wound together into something more. Something to get lost in.

Talsgar had paused, only his lute playing a soft interlude that kept the suspense in the air. His story was not finished, but he took his time, gave us opportunity to free ourselves from the spell he had woven around us. I used the break to kindle the fire and feed it with some more dry twigs while Farkas refilled our mugs. He only continued when he was sure our attention was back on him.

"Faolan and his followers lived with and from the land, never forgotten, the prophecy living as well as the legend he had once been. They were fierce, and they wreaked terror over the Empire and the traitors amongst their own, but they were only few and without the means to start a real war. For every Imperial soldier they wiped out, two more moved up to take their place.

"It was a dark, wet and cold night when the second betrayal took its course, the sky over the Reach choked by clouds. The war had taken its toll, and even Faolan's most faithful followers fell victim to doubt in nights like these. Damp, frozen hopelessness ground its way into their hearts when the scouts came and gave account of fortified garrisons full of men and their steel, full of food, ale and whores, without doubt about their victory and of their right to be here.

"In such a night a stranger was caught near Red Eagle's camp, a huddled, shambling figure, cloaked in rags and face hidden under a cowl. Intruders were put to death, such was the rule to prevent deceit and discovery, and the Red Eagle himself came to witness the execution. Only when the stranger already knelt in front of a blade ready to strike, she raised her voice and asked – no, demanded – to be allowed to speak to the righteous king of the land. It wasn't human, this voice, screeching and alluring, sated with the power of the wilds.

"Faolan stood and watched, contemplating the insolent request, his men waiting for the sign to carry out his order. And then he beckoned to release the stranger and led her to shelter, guided by curiosity and a dark foreboding.

"Only when they were alone, she revealed her nature. Not human. Not at all, not any more. A witch she was, an abomination fused of woman and creature, a spirit of the wild, venerable and terrifying. A Hagraven, corrupted, evil… and powerful in the ways of dark, ancient magic.

"'You need the strength of the land,' she spoke to him. 'Only the land itself can erase the taint of the strangers. I can give this strength to you. I will give it to you, for a price.'

"A pact was made, a contract sealed, and Faolan didn't haggle. He surrendered to the offer and gave what deemed necessary: he gave his heart, his soul, his humanity. But he sold a soul that was not his alone, bound by fate and prophecy. He was deceived into power, and with himself, he sold the heart and the soul of his people."

Talsgar made us hear more than just his words. He wove his spell of words and melodies, and we heard the noise of the fights and the screams of dying men, felt the despair around the shattered, lonely fires and the fury hidden in the damp caves scattered throughout the landscape around us. And we smelled the stench of witchcraft, listened to the screech of a raven and the subtle, deceiving promise it carried.

The Circle knew them, these subtle promises of power and that the price was always higher than anticipated. Nobody knew it better than we. A suppressed groan erupted from Vilkas' throat.

I didn't know to what extend Talsgar was aware what effect his tale had on us, but he built up the tension so subtle and smart that I was sure he wasn't as withdrawn as he looked. He was cunning… drawing us in, ensnaring us in his story. Did he know what it meant to us? Did he know what we were? Or did he just choose it because it fit the setting? I didn't know.

"But the witch stood by her promise, and his band of ragged, desperate fighters grew into an army no one could stand against. Not the thriving garrisons, not the traitorous leaders of the Reach. He spilled blood until the Karth turned red, and after two winters his home was free again, ruled by a king whose eyes burned cold like obsidian with a will not entirely his own. He had become one with the land, eternally hurting from the thorns that covered his heart. He was the briar that sheltered his people from the outside world.

"The Reach was free, but the peace he had paid so dearly for was short and treacherous. The Empress' generals came with an army unheard of, the land itself surrendering to their supremacy. They conquered and vanquished and finally laid siege to Faolan's fortress in the Sundered Hills until he came forth himself for the last battle. He wore nothing but his rage and his flaming sword, and a thousand men fell to his fury before the day ended.

"But in the end, when night fell, so did he. And his mind was clear once more, and he saw what he had done – sold himself for a treacherous power, given his life, his soul and his dream, and by surrendering to the ancient witchery he had not only condemned himself, but all of his people. All of his land.

"The oath he spoke with his last breath, to come back and lead them again once the Reach was free, it was the last betrayal. With this oath he claimed to be what he had given away: the heart and soul of his people, and he condemned his people to fulfil the destiny he had abandoned."

I felt Farkas' grip tense around me, barely noticeable but proof of his rapt attention, and it made me look up. Vilkas sat curled up into a ball, hands folded around his shins, forehead resting on his knees. His shoulders were twitching.

Talsgar had stopped to play, his hands lying flat on the corpus of his lute. His voice was so quiet now, I had to concentrate to hear him.

"They fight until today. Until today, they sacrifice their own to the dark magic of the land, make them the thornhedge they hope to find freedom and peace behind. They are trapped… in their old ways, in a prophecy that still has to come true and in an oath that still has to be fulfilled. They still hope that one day the price will be paid and the promise will be delivered. They fight for the freedom of their people, their land and their souls, and they will fight until the world ends or the dead rise to lead them again. Until eternity, if they have to."

It was quiet as if the night itself held its breath and didn't dare to make a sound when Talsgar had finished. It was broken by a desperate shout and a dark shadow. Vilkas was like a flash as he leaped up and over the fire, shoved the bard to his back and pressed him to the ground. He hovered above him, his hands dangerously close to his throat.

"Lies!" he roared, "not for eternity!"

"Vilkas!"

Farkas and I yelled in unison, but I was faster, grabbed his shoulders and hurled him away from the bard. But he didn't struggle, let go without resistance and slumped together at my feet. For a moment, we were all like frozen. And then he shook off my hands, frenzied hurt and guilt in his face, scrambled to his feet and darted off into the darkness.

Farkas ran after him, reaching into his neck and drawing his shirt over his head, letting it fall where he was.

I waited for the howl that always broke free with the change, and it came, twofold. The bard regarded me with calm, gentle eyes when I dropped beside him to my knees. He didn't flinch when I touched his shoulder with my fingertips.

"I'm sorry, Talsgar. So sorry. That shouldn't have happened…"

He looked… mostly curious. "What _exactly_ happened?" The question baffled me.

"He tried to hurt you?"

The bard seemed to contemplate my answer, his fingers drumming a light rhythm on the corpus of his lute. "No. No, I don't think so."

"Why did you tell us this story?"

His smile was gentle. "I'm not sure. I'm never sure why I choose something. Just go with my guts, and when I saw you three… I thought it had a meaning to you."

"You're a wise man, Talsgar." I hesitated. "You wanna leave? I'd understand if you don't want to stay… here, tonight, with us, I mean… I could bring you back to the road. At least." My blush only deepened when the man chuckled lowly.

"No, girl, don't worry. I'm quite comfortable here. And it would be rude to leave a lady alone here in the middle of nowhere." He grinned, a sympathetic grin considering how we had met first – alone in my camp in the middle of nowhere. "I'll stay at least until your men are back."

"They're not my men!"

"No, of course they're not," he chortled.

The small kettle still stood by his side, and now he filled it with fresh water and set it into the glowing coals. Soon the invigorating scent of his mysterious brew drafted from the tankard. "You want some?" he offered, and I took it gladly. The hot beverage warmed my cold fingers and calmed my mind.

I had the feeling I had to explain myself. The incident and why Vilkas had reacted so frenzied. But I couldn't, of course. I still pondered what to say without saying too much when his next remark started me up.

"You have experience with betrayal. All of you."

I stared at him. Gods, this man was far too clever for his own good. Or he had seen far too much in his life.

"Yes, we have. The three of us… personally. And… in a more general sense."

"I see." He sipped on his tankard, making soft slurping noises when the hot brew burnt his tongue.

"Talsgar?" His friendly eyes looked at me without pressure. They had not once lost their gentleness during the last hours. "I know that Athis sent you to me, last time we met. And… I'm sorry I destroyed your lute. And nearly slit your throat. It seems you're in danger every time we meet."

The laughlines around his eyes crinkled in open amusement. "Aye," he chuckled, "that mer… he knows that one day, curiosity will kill the bard." He refilled his tankard with slow, careful motions. "You wouldn't have killed me, girl. You were desperate and lonely, but you never would've killed someone who came to you in peace. Even if you didn't understand it." He took another sip, and his next words were casual. "Your Vilkas here, he's desperate and lonely too."

This man was far too clever for his own good.

A noise at the edge of the clearing indicated someone coming back, not caring to be silent. It was Farkas, he was alone, and the excitement of the change was drowned out by anger, sadness and disappointment radiating from him in waves as he pulled his discarded shirt back on. When I went to meet him and pulled him into my arms, tried to get over the tension in his muscles, he buried his face in my neck with a heavy breath.

"It will be fine," I said, stroking the back of his head. "We will be fine."

He sighed deeply. "He's such a fool," he whispered.

"Where is he?"

"Needs to calm down. Alone. He will come back."

"Good."

Farkas took the first watch, and despite the excitement I felt tiredness defeat my body as soon as I crept into the bedroll. The low mumbling of the men outside of the tent lured me into sleep, and I smiled when my eyes closed. It would do him good to speak with the bard. He had an astonishing effect on people… and he was an outsider who knew nothing about us.

To be ripped out of sleep in the middle of the night was as terrible an experience as always, and Farkas knew better than to force me into a conversation consisting of more than a few annoyed grunts when he had to wake me. Instead he waited patiently until I had brought myself to creep out of my cosy nest and get back into my armour before he settled into the tent. He usually used my bedroll in these situations, and I envied him deeply for the warmth I had left him behind.

But once I was properly awake, I loved these quiet hours of the night when I watched over the safety of us all. It was one of the few opportunities to be alone, and I didn't need much sleep anyway. It was rare that anything happened at all during these hours, and if a pack of wolves or another animal became too curious, my senses were always alert enough to warn me early, even if my thoughts were elsewhere. That we were attacked was even rarer. The wildlife sensed the beasts in us and stayed away, and humans finding us accidentally in the depth of night… well, those were either drunk or suicidal.

And so I sat with the lowly glowing embers of the fire warm in my back, Dragonbane on my knees, and listened to the sounds of the night. The hoot of an owl, rustling under dry leaves, the noise of pebbles rolling down a slope where goats made their way over unclimbable heights, the thrumming hooves of a herd of deer, the distant roar of a predator. And the breathing or light snoring of the men under my watch who trusted me enough to delve into their dreams, Farkas in our tent, Talsgar curled up under some furs near the fire.

Watching him brought a smile to my face. What a strange man. He seemed so dupable… trusting and helpless, but I knew he was neither. When we met, he stood between corpses he had killed himself. But now he slept peacefully, here in our camp where he had been attacked only hours ago, and he had not once shown any fear. Quite the contrary, really… He always looked content, absolutely happy with where he was and what he did. I wondered if he had family or close friends somewhere, people who waited for him to come home, people he missed during his travels. People who were close enough to drive him mad. I had to smile at the thought. A bit of madness was a small price for a place to come back to.

Not even Vilkas' return could disturb me. He came back silently and settled on a log in my back, staring into the coals with his elbows on his knees and his chin propped into his palms. He didn't move and ignored me completely, but I could sense that he had calmed down.

Only when I heard the soft clinks of glass against glass, I turned around to see what he was doing. He had placed his pack between his feet and was sorting out all the potions, salves and bandages he was carrying.

"What are you doing?" I whispered, not wanting to disturb the sleeping men.

He lifted his gaze to me, calm and collected. "You need them more than I."

I narrowed my eyes in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I'll go back to Skyhaven." He held my gaze. "I'm sorry I ruined this for you. But I don't think it will work."

He was pathetic. "You give up so easily?" I snapped, "run away before we've even reached Morthal? Not worth much, that promise you made."

He clenched his teeth. "I wanted to kill him, Qhourian."

"Yeah. And two days ago I wanted to kill you. But I didn't, and now we're both here." I shook my head. "What we want and what we do is not the same, Vilkas. What we want is only important in here." I tipped at my temple. "But what really counts is what we do. And tonight, you only made a fool of yourself. Talsgar is fine, no harm done."

His hands were clenched into a tangled piece of cotton strip. "That's what you think?" His voice was shallow.

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, I think you're an enormous jerk." I pointed behind me. "There's room in the tent. Go cuddle with your brother and get some rest."

He tidied up the mess he had made without a further word. Farkas grunted annoyed when he crawled beside him, but soon I heard nothing around me but threefold deep breathing. I wondered why he complied so easily to what I told him to do, but I was glad to have my peace again.

These hours of quiet were the hours when I did a lot of thinking, the fateful habit Farkas wanted me to get rid of. Rags of conversations paced through my mind, evoked by Talsgar's presence and the events of the evening.

_"You're so much alike, it's scary."  
"Your Vilkas here, he's desperate and lonely too."  
"He can't bear it, you know? Not to be in control. To be helpless."  
"We are closer than others, closer than mere siblings, friends or even lovers."  
"He's my little brother."  
"I have to start with you, and I need your help."_

This evening had opened my eyes to something I should have realised much earlier. Vilkas – cruel, violent, cold and calculating Vilkas – was by far the most vulnerable of us three.

Farkas' and my relationship was built on everything that we had shared, that we knew each other inside out. There were no secrets, nothing that we could hide from each other, no matter how dark, cruel or painful.

And to a lesser regard, I shared something similar with Aela and even Kodlak. I knew about Aela's struggle for balance and her fanatic, irrational hatred of the Silver Hand as well as Kodlak's fears regarding his afterlife, so deep and urgent that he sometimes forgot that he was still alive.

And they knew me just as well, every single one of my weak spots, and it had never bothered me. We had built the foundation of knowledge and trust for this inescapable bond the blood formed between us long before I had joined them.

Vilkas and I shared the blood, but we lacked the foundation. We had never had opportunity to build it. The relationship between us had always been determined by power and control. He had been so much stronger than me - physically and in regards to his skill, his knowledge and his rank. I had never questioned his superiority.

But power and control didn't work any more, and I understood why he had such a hard time to deal with this change. I had the safety and the support of my husband and the others. He didn't. He was a part of the pack, and at the same time he was an outcast.

And as an outcast with nothing to rely on, he was dangerous, prone to lash out against everyone who threatened to discover his weaknesses. Tonight, it had been Talsgar.

If I wanted this journey with Vilkas to work, we'd have to work on the foundation. We'd have to get to know each other, and we'd have to learn to trust and honesty.

I had no idea if I could bear to get involved with him so deeply. I didn't know either if he would allow it. Perhaps it wasn't possible to rebuild the bridges we had burnt between us.

But I had told him I wanted to try and start something new, and he had asked to give him this chance. We would have to try. Yes, this was gonna be a long, exhausting, difficult and dangerous journey.

Talsgar got up long before sunrise, going from deeply asleep to wide awake in only a blink of an eye. He had his stuff packed in a matter of minutes, his instrument again wrapped neatly into its cloth, but then he settled beside me on my log and filled my mug with another of his brews. He seemed to produce and drink this beverage in enormous amounts.

"Thanks for your company, Talsgar."

He looked nearly apologetic. "I'm sorry I disturbed your peace. Give the men my greetings, will you?"

I smiled at him. "It should be me who apologises. But perhaps… it was good that it happened tonight. I hope we'll meet again, one day, under luckier stars."

He tilted his head into his neck and looked up into the clouded sky.

"Yes, perhaps. You know…" he chuckled lowly, "your tale will be an interesting one, Dragonborn. It would be an honour and a pleasure to tell it."

He stood up and was gone before I could answer, vanished into the darkness.

"Kynareth guide you," I whispered after him.

* * *

A/N: The tale how 7-year-old Farkas once saved Talsgar from bandits is told in my story "The Letter".


	7. Arrival

Three pairs of siblings, two of them twins, all of them related by blood. Moorside Inn was a turmoil of laughter and chatter and greetings when I entered, the bunch of people clumping up at the bar not even noticing that the door opened.

Less than an hour ago we had entered Morthal in stonen silence, nothing left of the relative easiness of the first days. Vilkas had been his usual broody self since the moment he crawled out of the tent, but that wasn't unexpected, especially not after the incident with Talsgar.

But Farkas wasn't much better, taciturn, edgy and disturbingly quiet, and it became worse the closer we got to Morthal. We barely exchanged more than a few sentences over the day, only his gaze spoke volumes - worried on me, probing and searching on his brother. Enervating. But he said nothing and I didn't want to ask with Vilkas around, even if he held a distance from us.

I felt irritated anger rise over his behaviour. Did he have second thoughts? Had he finally realised how hazardous this game we played was? Nothing I needed less than him getting cold feet now, especially as the responsibility for this whole trip lay in my hands now. I had to make a decision, but with every step I made I could imagine less to see through with this plan. With every step, I was more convinced the first thing I should do in Morthal was to find a courier and send him straight to Jorrvaskr.

But it would be ridiculous to send Vilkas home now, after I had forced him to stay the night before.

We had split up when we arrived, the men going straight to the inn while I went to visit Idgrod. She offered me to stay at her hall, and she seemed genuinely disappointed when I told her that I'd only stay for one night and that I didn't have time to spend the evening with her. For a moment, I wanted nothing more than to tell her everything that had led me here and ask for her advice. Nothing drew me into the company of Farkas' family. None of them knew what had happened and why I had come here with both of the twins.

But I had promised to join the others, and now I watched this weird family that they had somehow made to work. The brothers were the centre of the crowd, Farkas with one girl on his hip and the other on his hand, chatting vocally and boisterous with Jonna, Carsten and Falion. As if he had shrugged off all worries as soon as I was out of sight and he had his family around him.

Here, he could relax, was just a father and a friend, loved and adored. Here, he could free himself from everything I burdened him with and that he always carried without complaint. He had a right to do so, even if I couldn't do the same. Seeing him here in this company of which he was such an integral part, I realised again why I didn't like to come here. He needed this for himself. It was his vacation from me.

He had earned it, manifold. I felt left out, but it wasn't his fault. I wouldn't blame him for being happy.

Vilkas stood beside him, silent but relaxed. He already belonged more to this group than I ever would. For the moment, they had forgotten about me, about Blackreach and Alduin, and were only a family while I was only a stranger, a guest, welcome for a few hours and not missed when gone again.

I could only guess that it was Siona who was the first to spot me standing at the door. She let go of her father's hand, strode through the room and stood before me, her hands in her hips and a reproachful frown on her cute little face.

"You promised to keep him safe!"

I recoiled from the venom in her voice, lost for words. But her outcry had gathered the attention of the adults, and they turned as one to the door.

"Siona!" Farkas barked, fast steps carrying him towards us. He took his daughter by the shoulders and gave me an apologising gaze. "It wasn't her fault. I told you already."

"But she's right," I said weakly. "I didn't keep you safe."

"Qhouri, please!" He rolled his eyes, shrugged and turned, giving me a gesture over his shoulder. "Come in. We've been waiting for you."

No, they didn't. My eyes searched for Vilkas who watched us stoically. I jerked my head towards the door and left. It was time to get this over with.

Athis would call me cranky, and he would be right. I missed the mer as I waited on the small porch in front of the inn, leaning with my elbows on the balustrade. It wasn't late enough for Morthal to be entirely quiet, a couple of guards made their way through the village, lights flickered behind the windows of Highmoon Hall and of the guard barracks, I heard laughter and the crying of a child. But the night lay like a blanket around me, itching like rough wool on naked skin and choking my breath.

I missed the mer, his snark and support and understanding. If he were here, I wouldn't have to make a decision.

I didn't want to make it. I didn't want to delve into the black abyss that was Blackreach, didn't want to search for this Scroll and read it, didn't want to leave my husband behind and spend so much time with his brother.

I didn't want to, but I had to. Vilkas came out and leant beside me, his back to the railing, his arms crossed over his chest.

I turned my head to him, but he stared at the window, golden light streaming over the wooden planks. In there were people who liked him because they didn't know him.

"Will you behave down there?" I asked briskly.

He took his time with his answer. "I hope we mean the same when it comes to behaving," he said finally. There was a smirk in his voice, as if he wanted to mock me.

"You know exactly what I mean!" I snapped.

"I will protect you with my life, Qhourian. But will you behave too?"

"What do you mean?" I narrowed my brows in anger.

"I will be your shield-brother, not a hireling you can order around. Will you work with me like you would work with Athis or Ria?"

No, I wouldn't. With Athis or Ria, there would be fun and teasing and an unspoken understanding. We would care for each other. Nothing of this was possible with him.

"You still seem to believe that this is about you, Vilkas. It isn't. I can't waste my strength on you."

Now he turned around and mimicked my posture. He was close enough to feel his bodywarmth, our elbows nearly touching. I had to suppress a shudder.

"We can't make this work if you don't believe me." He stared stoically ahead.

And with this he was right. Perhaps every single step that had led us here and brought me into this impossible situation had been a big mistake. I didn't believe him, and I didn't trust him. He had done nothing to earn it.

So far, I had had Farkas with his optimism by my side and a lot of time to argue this decision for myself. But now I was on my own and the arguing had to come to an end. What seemed reasonable before coiled now in dreadful foreboding in my stomach.

This whole idea had been insane.

I let out a deep breath of defeat when he turned his head to me. Bright eyes in a face hidden in shadows.

"I know this is about Alduin," he said lowly. "If nothing else, I want as much as everyone else on Nirn that you're successful against him. And I gave you a promise. Let me prove it."

"Your reasons to make this promise were entirely selfish."

"As were yours when you considered it."

"That's preposterous!"

Silvery eyes searched my face and lingered on the scars on my cheek. There was no anger, no derision. "We're both selfish, Qhourian. We both want peace with each other, because everything else would cost us too much. But we can only find it if we try."

Perhaps he had come to the same conclusion as I. Perhaps we'd be able to learn.

But all _perhaps_ and _what ifs_, doubts and delays would lead to nothing. Vilkas only added another risk to an already terribly dangerous journey, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction that I didn't dare to take a risk. If it worked, he would be a great help. And if it didn't and worse came to worst, I'd just deal with him like I dealt with dragons and Dwemer machines. I wasn't helpless against him.

There was no use in stalling any longer. I straightened myself. "Okay." He flinched slightly, as if he hadn't expected this. "Please tell Farkas I'm off. I'll see you tomorrow."

He nodded, turned without another word and vanished into the inn.

I contemplated what to do now. I didn't want to go back inside, and although Idgrod would certainly be happy to share a goblet of wine with me, the thought to feign interest for the latest local gossip made me cringe. I wanted these last hours for myself. Gather my thoughts, gather my strength, come to peace with the weight of the following weeks.

Weeks with Vilkas, and I already felt exhausted before we had even started.

But before I could make a decision, strong arms wrapped around my waist. "You didn't think I let you spend this night without me, did you?" Farkas whispered into my ear.

The tension that always held me in its grip when I had to deal with his brother rushed from my body with a ragged breath. I sagged into the warmth of his embrace, blinking against the wetness in my eyes. "Can just as well get used to it."

He turned me around, forced me to face him. His thumb caught a tear that spilled over. "I hope you don't. I certainly won't." He made me smile. He always made me smile, no matter what. Something else I would miss terribly. His expression was serious. "I'm sorry, Qhouri. I wasn't much of a help today."

"I'd like to know that at least one person I can take seriously thinks this is a good idea."

He swallowed. "It's just... I don't wanna let you go. I wanted to tell you not to go without me."

"But you can't. Siona has reason enough to be angry with me."

"She's a brat."

I rested my head against his shoulder. "No. She loves you. They will be happy when I'm gone and you stay here."

"I'd rather go with you. You know that, don't you?"

"I wish we could just run off," I whispered. "Let Alduin eat the world." Run away from everything – Falmer and Dwemer, Paarthurnax and the Worldeater, Vilkas and his family.

He held me for long minutes until I felt his index under my chin. "Okay," he said with a smile.

"Okay?"

"Let's run off. Just for tonight." He glanced at the sky, took my hand and pulled me down the stairs. No moons were out yet, but the hazy air made the stars sparkle. "Come on. We only need our bedrolls."

We didn't run far, only until we had found a sheltered place in the mountains south of Morthal, a small delve between a few boulders we could use to fasten a tarp between. Beneath it, it was nearly cosy.

We went hunting because it was my last opportunity for who knew how long, chased some goats and a bear through the rocky terrain. After we had fed we chased each other, playful and wild, upwards until we had arrived at the peak and our howl echoed down into the abyss of the Labyrinthian stone chaos that lay spread out beneath us like the playground of a giant.

Back in our refuge, the excitement of the change still coursing through our veins, we didn't need words. Our lovemaking was frenzied and urgent and rough, he ravished my body and I marked him as mine until we became one in an explosion of white light and nothing was left but him and me.

"Farkas?"

My head was hazy and empty, my heart still hammering against my ribs. We lay tangled together, exhausted, sweaty and caught in the aftermath of a bliss we could only experience with each other. I wanted to stay like this forever, on top of him, our legs tangled together and with his arms around me.

"Hmmm?" His hands wandered lazily over my back.

"What do you think of… "

When I became quiet he tilted his head until he could look into my face.

"Qhouri?"

"Could you imagine to have another family?"

I didn't really think before asking, and now I drew my head away, feeling silly. What an incredible daft moment for such a question. But his embrace tightened, then he turned to the side and spread one hand over my stomach. And he forced me to look into his face.

"It would be a gift," he said quietly, "the biggest gift of all to have a family with you. If you were the mother of my children… some day. And it's already a gift that you dare to think of it. That you ask this question."

I covered his hand with mine, took in his expression full of seriousness and amazement. "Some day." I smiled, feeling relieved and strangely light and brittle, and tears dropped down on his chest as his arms closed around me.

"I don't wanna let you go," he whispered. "I wish we had more time together. I wish this were over already."

He gave himself to me that night, completely and selfless, filled me to the edge with his love, his tenderness, his passion. We memorised each other with every sense, soothingly familiar touches led to something new, another unexplored layer, so much more to return to. The shivering embrace of completion held us together for the rest of the night, no room left for doubt. I knew where I belonged.

* * *

The attack came out of the blue – literally – and I knew again why I hated icewraiths with a passion.

We were crossing the glacier that led up to Alftand, the ruins already visible in the distance, and the bright midday light on the dreary, uniform white landscape of ice and snow made my eyes water. The swarm was nearly invisible, only the blazing flashes when the creatures were hit by direct sunrays left red dots in my field of view that obscured my sight even further.

They attacked our faces, the only parts of us that weren't covered in furs, as if they were directed by our bodywarmth. With my lighter blade and the protection of the shield I was in a slightly better situation than Vilkas. But all that became irrelevant when the world around us suddenly exploded in a ball of white, even more blinding than the endless snow around us.

The woman appearing behind the curtain of ice was beautiful. Ethereal and fair, seemingly floating in a cloud of glittering mist and clad in white rags that swayed around her rime-covered body in a breeze nobody else could feel. Beautiful and deadly, and her smile was glorious and raving mad as she spread out her arms. Transparent crystals grew in her palms, and the gesture seemed to order her wisps into a new, concerted, even more ferocious attack.

I had only heard in stories of the mysterious wisp-mothers, didn't know if it was a ghost, a spirit or a creature and if the wisps were independent entities or a part of her. They were said to steal children and lure travellers into their demise.

We didn't have to be lured, though, had run directly into her trap. But this was the first serious fight Vilkas and I got in together, and now it became obvious how little we were used to each other. We lacked the instinctive knowledge where the other was and what he was doing, and we failed as shield-siblings. I fought as if I was alone and he did the same, and instead to stay together and decimate the creatures one by one, we let them separate us. His fighting style was unpredictable for me, he never was where I assumed him to be, and the efforts to look out for him ripped me out of the flow of my own fight over and over again. I couldn't concentrate on him, on the erratic movements of the wisps and my own dance over the slippery, cracked ground all at once.

The phantasms seemed to attack in a choreography I couldn't figure out. They were insanely fast, whirling around us, advancing, making contact with nearly imperceptible touches that left bleeding, numb wounds and a feeling of weakness. I thrashed around, swinging my blade in erratic attacks like a child in his first sword training, hitting nothing over and over again. When I hit one of them accidentally, it collapsed with a faint, melodious chink into a glowing heap of ice.

Vilkas was out of my sight when his pained scream tore through the air, only to cut off far too abruptly. I was panting for breath, dizzy with exhaustion and fighting against the weight of my sword and my armour, but I spun around, searched for him and fell into a run in an instant. He lay on his back, the wisp-mother hovering above him. One of the ice-spikes that she had formed out of thin air stuck in his side, blood pooling beneath him in a bright red puddle that was rapidly growing. His head thrashed around and his hand clenched and unclenched around the grip of his sword, but he made no movement of defence as she bent down to pierce the crystals that protruded from her palms into his chest.

"YOL TOOR!"

It was a knee-jerk reaction, and the force of the dragonfire rippled the chill in the air with a power that went through marrow and bone. The ghastly creature flew back with an unearthly, hollow scream.

With their mistress' demise, the wisps stopped their attacks. As I stood with my hands on my knees, fighting for breath, they circled around me and finally simply vanished. My strength came back, at least enough to run over to Vilkas' dead-still body and drop down by his side.

Farkas had complained about it before, that the Blades' armour wasn't sturdy enough. The cuirass was made of single metal plates that lay like scales over each other, attached to a fine layer of chainmail. It wasn't as heavy as the massive steel of the wolf armour, but it also wasn't as resilient.

The ice-spike with its razor-sharp tip had pierced through the plates and snapped one of them off, and now ice and steel were stuck in the flesh right above his hipbone. He bled heavily, and it got worse as the missile started to melt.

Additionally, he had obviously hit his head during the fall. It would have been easier if he had been completely unconscious, but he was just dazed, his legs twitching uncontrollably until I straddled his thighs, his head thrashing around and his gaze unfocused and hazy. His breathing was shallow and ragged, the piece of metal and the ice-spike moving with every rasping pant.

"Lie still," I hissed, frantically cutting the straps of his armour and the fabric of his tunic around the wound.

He would bleed out if I didn't act fast, but he would bleed out even faster if I just removed the objects. Most important was to close the wound. I had my healing spell ready when I gripped them and jerked them out together.

What I didn't notice while I was concentrated on his wound was the change of his expression into something between panic and fury. When his body stiffened and moved, it was already too late, and the steel-clad fist crushing against my jaw let me topple backwards.

"Ouch!" I touched the bruise in my face with trembling fingers, my head still ringing with the bells of Oblivion as I tried to sit up.

Vilkas had hit me. I had saved his fucking life – again! - and he had hit me. A clump of ice formed in my stomach, its cold seeping into my bones, leaving only numbness worse than the spells of the wisps.

We hadn't been cautious enough. _I_ hadn't been cautious enough, I had let my guard down, lulled into this madness by the relaxed atmosphere between us as long as Farkas was around. Treacherous, like everything with this man.

My gut had warned me since we had left Morthal. Vilkas had spent the night at Moorside and was already waiting for us in front of the inn when Farkas and I came back that morning, together with Jonna and Carsten. I clenched my husband's hand when I saw the impatience in his brother's face, but we had already said everything there was to say. I didn't want to leave, he didn't want to let me go. He slung his arm around my shoulder as we approached the little group.

"You two go and kick some Falmer asses," he said sternly, holding his brother's gaze. Vilkas nodded, and Farkas went ahead through the village until we had reached the bridge that led out into the swamps. He pulled me against his chest and pressed his lips to mine.

"I love you," he whispered into my mouth, "come back safe."

I felt his love and his strength and his confidence stream through me like a surge as I drowned in his kiss. This was what I fought for, what I wanted to return to. When I went ahead over the bridge, I clenched my teeth and didn't look back while he drew Vilkas aside.

But Farkas was gone when the village vanished behind us in the morning mist, and I was alone with his brother. Travelling with Vilkas was different from everything I was used to, and it wasn't pleasant. The logistics of the journey were easy enough to deal with, that wasn't the problem. We had planned our route beforehand, I hunted for us to save our rations, we shared the watches, the load and all the little duties that had to be done.

But we had nothing to say to each other, no point of contact, no connection. Nothing to build upon, only a load of things that stood between us.

Perhaps it was his broody mood or my own bad temper, perhaps both our stubbornness, but after the silence had lasted for the first hours, it became impossible to break it. All we exchanged over the next two days were short sentences, where to make camp, who took which watch, if to roast or to cook the game I brought.

I became nervous and irritable under his constant scrutiny, conscious of myself, as if he was only waiting for me to make the first mistake. And I slept even worse than usual, knowing that it was he who held watch over me, no matter how often I told my subconsciousness that he would do his best, that he had promised and that it was safe with him.

_Still better than to fight,_ I told myself. _We can make this work. He still has to prove himself._ But with the silence came the doubts, the speechlessness between us clouding my mind like a dark fog. I wasn't used to be alone in the company of someone else. I was used to camaraderie and friendship, implicit understanding and mutual support.

I retreated into myself and tried to ignore him the best I could, but every once in a while, I felt his gaze on me and saw a fleeting smirk break his stoic expression. For him, this was only a game. Perhaps it had been just a game right from the start, and I had forgotten that winning was the only option once Vilkas started to play – no matter the cost.

And now he had hit me. Again. Because I had _healed_ him. That he didn't know what he was doing, hazy from pain, bloodloss and concussion… I wouldn't accept it as excuse. He had been sane enough to recognise what I did. I didn't think when I used my magic on him, it was the only reasonable thing to do, and his reaction just proved that he had no control over his instincts.

I forced myself to breathe deeply to suppress the riot in my head. I would not panic now. I would not freak out. I was not afraid of the man who lay before me, covered in blood and watching me with shock and confusion in his expression. I shut him out with conscious effort when I scrambled to my feet, shouldered my pack and went away.

"Qhourian!" He called after me in a weak, rasping voice. "What are you... wait!" His words were slurred.

Something between a sob and a laughter escaped me. It seemed I had won our game, but it was a hollow victory. He had his pack and his share of the potions, he could take it and go to Oblivion.

Why was I so naïve? Why didn't I trust my gut feeling once in a while? I could have been where I was now right after I brought Farkas to the useless college healers. I would find this Scroll. I didn't need anybody to help me, and least of all the maniac I left behind, lying in his own blood.

I had no idea what he would do now, but I didn't believe he'd have the balls to return to Morthal and confront his brother. Perhaps he'd run straight to Morrowind now, never to return. But when I entered the platform that would take me into the bowels of Alftand, I closed the door behind me just to be sure. Vilkas didn't have any lockpicking skills either.

Everything was unchanged when I reached the bottom, the corpses of the Imperial man and Redguard woman still lying where we had left them, the stairs I had unlocked with Septimus' device still leading down into the darkness. I started the descent without further delay, only a small patch of light from a torch guiding me deeper and deeper, the steps circling a huge column over and over again.

The door at the bottom looked like every other Dwemer gate I had opened so far. I had no conception of the miracle that lay behind it.

"Holy Ysmir!" My whisper sounded far too loud.

Everything else was forgotten. I had entered another land. Another kingdom. Another world, and it was beautiful.

It was only a cave, technically, but my mind was unable to draw a line between the concept of something surrounded, restricted by walls of rock and _this_. This wasn't a cave… it was a _landscape_.

I stood on a platform a few feet above the ground, stairs leading down on one side. What I could see from my lookout – and I was certain it was only a tiny part of the vastness I'd have to explore, the background vanishing in glittering mist – looked like a city. Dwemer ruins were impressive even in the most ruinous state, but this… this weren't ruins. I saw paved streets meandering through over hills and through valleys, connecting huge complexes of buildings, palaces and towers as well as small huts. I heard the gushing of a waterfall in the distance, the humming sound of Nirnroots and a faint clanking of metal against stone that let me freeze. And it wasn't dark, far from it. Looking up, a sky full of stars twinkled down on me, faint sparkles in every imaginable colour, but the majority of the light came from the… plants. Mushrooms. Whatever they were. They were huge, as high as the buildings, their caps spanning wide and adorned with tendrils that moved lightly in the gentle breeze. And they glowed, emitted a soft, bluish light that sparkled on the dust in the air and produced harsh, black shadows beneath them.

The most distinctive impression of everything I could overlook was that it didn't seem deserted. It looked friendly and inviting, as if the inhabitants of this place would come out of their houses and welcome me to their home any moment. Even the sounds I heard, the subtle movements on balconies and bridges and the Dwemer Centurion that patrolled openly in front of the small house nearest to me couldn't disturb this impression.

I took him out with a couple of arrows and fortunately without alerting anything or anyone else. Inside of the building, I found a skeleton and a journal, and the fact that it had been occupied by an alchemist from Cyrodiil only 150 years ago was strangely reassuring. I wrapped his brittle remains into a cloth, barred the door from the inside and made myself comfortable. Someone else had lived here and searched for knowledge, his notes proved it, and not too long ago… at least not too long considering the age of this place.

The seclusion of the little chamber and the content feeling to have reached this incredible place after so many failed efforts let my exhaustion break through. It was absolutely silent in my refuge, the thick walls sheltering me from everything outside, and I felt content and confident when I placed my bedroll on the stone platform that served as a bed.

* * *

_"Cast upon where the Dwemer cities slept, the yearning spire hidden learnings kept.  
Under deep. Below the dark. The hidden keep. Tower Mzark."_

I recalled Septimus Signus' mad ramblings as I prepared for my first expedition into the depths of Blackreach. Alftand was checked, Blackreach as well. Now I had to find the last of the names he had given me, the Tower Mzark. Probably one of the higher buildings, I chuckled lighthearted to myself.

I prepared carefully, packed arrows, potions and food for a two-days-trip although I planned to return here for the night. Now that I had seen the first glimpse, I was even more convinced that our assumptions had been right and Blackreach spanned in fact an area about as large as all of Hjaalmarch Hold. I'd have to spend weeks down here, unless I was very lucky and the mysterious tower was just around the corner. Not very probable, though.

At least I was able to make vague assumptions about what I had to expect in this realm. I had read about the war between the Dwemer and the Snow Elves that had raged down here, and considering how Alftand had been overrun with Falmer, this place had to crawl with them. It only seemed so peaceful and quiet because it was so large. I would find them, rather sooner than later, and I'd have to deal with them.

But I was well rested and prepared, and eager to start my exploration. It had taken me long enough to get here.

The man toppled backwards and head first into my refuge as soon as I opened the door, his weapon drawn and tightly gripped, light blue eyes staring up at me. My sword was at his throat before he could move.

"You're a nuisance, Vilkas. Give me a single reason why I shouldn't kill you right here and now."

"I brought your supplies. You're gonna need them."

"Nobody would ever know it. The last guy who's been down here died 150 years ago."

He didn't move, lay still on his back and just stared with his pale, enervating gaze, his feet still outside of the room.

Pathetic bastard.

I removed the blade. "Get out of my eyes. Now."

"No."

I glared at him while he sat up and pushed himself to his feet. "It's not open to debate. Leave."

Now he stood, leaning against the doorframe. He didn't look me in the eyes.

"No. You either kill me, or I'll stay. I don't care what you say, I'm gonna keep you safe."

He knew exactly that I wouldn't kill him. I wasn't desperate enough to kill him. Just furious and determined not to let him get the upper hand again.

I took a deep breath. "Cool down, brother. _IIZ SLEN!"_

Vilkas would defrost cold, wet and with his wrists tied to the alchemy table. If a Falmer paid him a visit while I was gone – well, tough luck. At least he'd have a lot of time to think over and decide what was worse: to face me, or to face his brother and tell him that he let me down.

_Under deep. Below the dark. The hidden keep. Tower Mzark._

Closing the door behind me, I hummed my new mantra and looked around. A well preserved broad road, paved with smooth cobblestones, led from my hut out into the distance. Smaller alleys branched and curved away between blocks of buildings, others vanished from my sight between the hills of the undulating and rocky terrain. It was tempting just to follow this road, considering that it probably connected the most important buildings, but too many of those glowing mushrooms stood by its side, and the giant encased in a metal frame in the middle of a large place kept me away.

From the right I heard the gushing of a waterfall, and so I decided to follow the cave wall left of the entrance. It was as good a start for my exploration as any other direction. The landscape was rocky, rugged and dark enough to provide excellent cover, and I got past platforms with the typical Falmer huts and some buildings sticking to or built into the rocky walls unseen and, more important, unheard.

The Falmer gave me the creeps. So far, the place wasn't exactly overrun with them, but there were enough of them to keep me in constant alertness. It would be easy enough to overwhelm me if I was careless, and I had learned from painful experience that they weren't just mindless beasts. They were intelligent, able to work together and build traps, and they certainly had some kind of communication system between the various groups down here. In the worst case, a single corpse left behind could alert the whole population… something I wanted to avoid at all costs. And so I tried to sneak by, memorising landmarks on my way, searching for larger buildings in the distance.

Everything went fine for the first hours… probably, I had lost every sense of time in the meantime. It had been late afternoon when I entered the Alftand lift, but I didn't know how long I had slept and how long I had spent out here. But I became tired, the constant necessity to remain alert in this alien environment with its weird lighting and dark shadows exhausting.

Looking back the way I had come, then forwards where I still had to go, the curve of the cave wall barely visible, I sighed inwardly. It would really take weeks to get this done, especially as my slow creeping wasn't exactly efficient. On the other hand… the thought to stay down here for so long, to live amongst the Falmer without them knowing, to get to know this place like no one had known it before me for hundreds, perhaps thousands of years… this thought had something strangely appealing.

I always wanted a room for myself. Now I had a whole kingdom of my own.

But for now I had to turn back, and I decided to move away from the safety of the cave wall and explore another way.

It was a bad idea. An exceptionally bad idea.

Walls everywhere. Buildings everywhere. Incomprehensible metal constructions, gates that led nowhere and unclimbable rocky slopes everywhere. And in-between Falmer who heard every breath, Dwemer constructs who sprung to live to every careless sound and movement and the largest chaurus I had ever seen, black monstrosities that lurked freely in the shadows between the glowing mushrooms.

I had left more than one corpse behind in the meantime and suffered more than one wound and bruise myself, with enemies jumping at me out of dark corners or blocking a way I thought I had to go. Every time I prayed that the shrieks of dying Falmer and the rattle of collapsing automatons wouldn't bring the entirety of Blackreach's army on me. I called forth my wolf senses, felt the shifting in the air around me. The city became alert. They knew of the intruder. They weren't hunting me… not yet. But it wouldn't take long until they did.

I had to get out of here, but I was lost, completely and utterly lost. And when I finally dared to admit it to myself, it didn't matter at all any more which direction I took.

I tried to follow the sound of the waterfall I had already heard from my little hut. But it was hopeless, every sound echoed manifold through the cavern, reflected from walls and barriers and didn't give any hint of direction. And now I cowered hidden in a maze of metal pipes, the gurgling of running water everywhere around me, and the shadows _moved_. Every single one.

Don't panic. Running around aim- and purposeless would only get me killed faster.

I just had to find a lookout. Something high, the roof of one of the larger buildings, or one of the bridges that connected them high above the streets. And then I could only hope that the landmarks I had memorised looked the same from every direction.

It was in fact possible to sneak through a city full of enemies with inhuman sense of hearing, though painfully slow, moving from shadow to shadow and with long breaks in-between to cool down my own nerves and my environment. It was not possible to sneak through those buildings once inside. Ever-glowing lamps which probably hadn't stopped working since the disappearance of the Dwemer lit them brightly, and they were guarded and inhabited. Or at least the one I had chosen was, all three floors of it. I had to fight my way through, and I did so with desperate determination, shot and shouted and slashed, was hit by lightning strikes and crude poisoned sword blades, but I made it out alive.

If the Falmer didn't know I was there yet, they certainly knew it after the carnage I left behind. But it was worth the effort. I was over and over smeared with blood and gore, my head dizzy from the poison I couldn't neutralise fast enough, I limped from a nasty strike that had slipped by the dragonscales into my thigh, and my magicka was completely drained, but I found myself on a narrow metal bridge high above most of the buildings – and high above the main street, the street that would lead me directly back home.

Home. I had to smile at the thought. Strange how that little house in this unfamiliar, hostile land had become home in the few hours I had spent there. Especially considering that Vilkas was still waiting there for me, and he would not be amused.

The bridge became a ramp that led down to the ground level again, not too far from the street – and not too far from the metal Centurion I had already seen from the distance. Either I underestimated his mechanical senses or I overestimated my ability to sneak by, I didn't know… but it took only a single false step on my way down the hill and a pained hiss when the injured muscle was strained, and the giant broke free from the frame he was mounted in with the typical steamy hiss.

He stomped towards me with heavy steps, much faster than the first one I'd encountered with Farkas, and I couldn't back away quickly enough as the pebbles under my feet slid away and made me trip. I had no choice but to shout him down. The pressure of the vaporised water spread the wreckage over a large radius, and a small, razor-sharp fragment of Dwemer metal pierced its way through my armour and into my thigh - again. I cursed inwardly. Now it was adorned with two bleeding holes I could have no regards for. Not after the racket I had made. I ran down the street openly and as fast as I could, expecting an army of Falmer and chaurus to close down on me every second, and crashed through the door of my hut.

Vilkas stood with his back to me at the alchemy station, grinding something into a mortar when I stumbled through the entrance. He turned without a word and let his gaze wander from my head to my toes and back, took in my wrecked, blood-smeared appearance, and his eyebrows rose inquiringly while I could just stare at him – dumbfounded.

"Why are you… How did you…" I stuttered.

He didn't react to my incoherent stammering and held up three bottles. "Healing, magicka or antidote?"

The nerve this man had. I was shivering, waves of nausea were rolling through my stomach and I couldn't think straight any more. Whatever he had to say, it would have to wait.

Nothing was as tempting as my bedroll at the moment. I limped through the room, fell onto the stone platform and was already half asleep when I fumbled one of my own potions out of my pack and strapped off my pauldrons.

The last I heard before sleep claimed me was his lecture. "Leather strips stretch when they get wet, and ice turns to water when it melts, Qhourian. Perhaps you should consider these simple facts next time you try to take someone captive."

The last I felt were some additional pelts that were draped over my exhausted body.


	8. Into Blackreach

Vilkas sat in a crosslegged squat against the wall, a book in his lap. Did this man never sleep?

"You're still here."

He looked up hesitantly, then nodded at the platter placed on the finely chiselled sidetable beside my bed. I couldn't help it, but the apple and the strip of dried venison looked as if they had been _arranged_.

"At least eat something before you run off again."

"Will you be gone when I come back?"

"No."

"Okay."

He mustn't think he could win this duel, not if stubbornness was the weapon of choice. And I could look at least as deadpan as he. I stood up and started to pack my knapsack with every single piece of equipment that seemed only remotely useful. And everything edible I could find.

I'd have to go on anyway sooner or later. Time to find a new place to set up camp.

I brought my supplies into the abandoned abode I had dispatched of its former inhabitants the day before. It wasn't as cosy as the little hut, and it was probably not as safe – but it would do, for a couple of nights. Or however I should call my sleeping periods down here.

After the hideous work to pile up all the corpses in a single room, I really needed a bath. Time to look for that mysterious waterfall and find out what lay behind it.

This time I followed the cave wall in the other direction, turned right from the exit to Alftand. The gushing of water soon became louder, and there were much less buildings in this area of Blackreach and also less of the glowing mushrooms, more shadows than light around me. I knew I was right when a spray of humidity hit my face after I crawled over a narrow ledge - before me lay a small lake, the water shimmering cyan and opaque in the unearthly glow, filled by a stream falling down from an opening in the cave wall high above its surface, the effluent another fall deep into an abyss of foam and sharp rocks.

Perhaps I should persuade Vilkas to take a bath with me. He liked to live on edges, after all.

I didn't have to convince him, though. As I stood naked under the lukewarm shower of the falling water and rinsed blood, dirt and various kinds of indescribable gore from my skin, his head surfaced suddenly behind the foamy curtain of spraying water, gasping for breath. He had found the pond before me.

Holy. Kyne.

We stared at each other, and I felt a small knot of dread build in my stomach, hearing nothing but the water gushing down around me and my own heavy breathing.

Until I realised that his face had darkened into the colour of the crimson leaves he held pressed against his chest like a bouquet, and until I sensed the waves of alarm and bewilderment leaking out from him. He was much more surprised than I. And he wasn't only embarrassed – he was terrified.

"Nothing you haven't seen before, Vilkas." My grin was mirthless.

The strange plants fell from his hands, he opened his mouth once, twice, and I saw his throat move, but nothing came out of it. Or perhaps it did, and I just didn't hear it, my brain fully stretched to comprehend what I saw.

The base of his neck, the hollow between his collarbones… it was a mess of scars, torn skin and crumpled tissue. I had never seen it before, always hidden behind armour or fabric, but I knew at once what it was. Only the fangs of a beast could leave such wounds. These scars were my mark on him.

I stared at him, at his throat, wide eyed, hearing nothing but my own heartbeat until he dove away with a sudden movement and vanished from my sight.

We had marked each other, severely and permanently. And sometimes, stubbornness just for the sake of stubbornness was more destructive than anything else. Sitting at the edge of the lake, I didn't have to wait long for him to appear and settle beside me.

"You ogled," I said with a small grin.

"No," he answered straightfaced, "I watched out for you. There are chaurus on the other side."

I turned to him, drew my knees to my chest. "I wanna make a deal. You stop hitting me, and I stop shouting at you."

"Why?" There it was, the cautious smirk, the small challenge he couldn't resist. Whoever made the first step lost the game. Just that this wasn't a game any more, and perhaps it was time to start a new one.

"I need my strength for more important things than to fight you."

"Will you stop healing me?"

"No. It's just a friggin' restoration spell, get over with it."

He swallowed. "At least those magicka potions won't go to waste."

"If you get injured so badly that I need them, you're doing it wrong anyway." A grin flashed up, in both our faces, but we hid it before it could evolve into laughter.

We sat in silence for a while, but it was an almost comfortable silence. Almost. Now I also heard the clicking of chitinous pincers in the distance. He really watched out for me.

"Why are you still here, Vilkas?"

His face was emotionless again.

"I made a promise to keep you safe."

"You've broken promises before. And I sent you away."

"This is one I'm gonna keep. I made it to you, and you're the last one who's gonna make me break it."

"And what did you promise your brother?"

"Farkas? Nothing. He wanted me to. But… I told him it wasn't necessary." His gaze was piercing. "You're more than just my brother's spouse, Qhourian. I'm not here because he wants me to. And now you owe me a question."

I braced myself. "Okay."

"Why didn't you kill me?"

"You want the short or the long, complicated version?"

"Both. The short one first."

"There's none." My grin was twisted. I felt as if I talked to myself, or to a mirror image. It wasn't important if we hurt each other with the things we'd say – only now, only once and never again. More important was that they were finally voiced and put into words, something we both could try to _understand_.

"You've no idea how often I've asked myself that question. And if I had met you before Falkreath, I would have killed you without a second thought."

"But then you didn't. When you could have, you didn't."

"You suffered so beautifully, it would have been a waste. To see you with the ring… it was glorious. I watched you for hours, and everything I ever wanted to do to you didn't even come close to _that_. When I left the prison, I wanted to leave you there and never look back." I watched him curiously, waited for a reaction, but his features didn't even twitch.

"And again you didn't."

"Farkas was there. He had followed me, unasked, and... it made things complicated. It would have killed him if I had let you die. It was your brother who saved you, Vilkas. His love for you, and my love for him. Never forget that. Without him, you'd be long dead."

"Did you ever regret it? That you took the ring?"

I propped my chin on the arm that lay on my knees, my voice quiet and calm. "That I took the ring and played Hircine's game that made me part of the pack? No. Never. That I took the ring _from you_? Yes. Every time you made me wanna kill you. And even more every time I fought with Farkas and we failed each other because of you. But he was always there, he never allowed me to run away, and we went through all this together. Farkas and his godsdamned trust."

"He trusted me?"

"No. Yes. I don't know. He trusted _me_. He knew what I didn't want to see: that your death wouldn't solve anything. He always believed in me, that I'd find a way to deal with you that would be more than just avoidance and suppression. And I always knew that he would be there when I did. His only weapon against… all this. My hate, and my self-pity, and my own cowardice."

"He isn't here now."

"He has taught me enough to leave me alone with you." I gave him a small smirk. He didn't return it.

"You could have forced him to choose. He would have chosen you."

"It would have hurt him."

"I didn't care what it would mean for him when I tried the same."

This was it. Now we were at the point where I could - where I had to ask the question. He wouldn't hedge it. Perhaps he wanted to get it out as much as I. Explain and understand, and then see what would happen.

"I want to know why you did it." I was proud how firm I uttered the question.

His voice was flat. "It was how to hurt you most. I wanted to break you."

"But... why?"

"You want the short or the long, complicated version?"

"I want the truth. Nothing with you is short and uncomplicated."

"And with you neither."

He became quiet, his gaze fixed on the opaque, glittering surface of the lake.

"Vilkas?"

He winced, only a small jerk of his shoulders, and turned further away. For a moment, I expected him to jump up and run.

"You were just a whore," he said finally, his voice low. "A weakling and a stray. But you held all this power, and they betrayed me for you."

"Who _betrayed_ you?"

"All of them. Farkas and Kodlak, the Circle, the whelps. And my own beast."

I wanted to object, declare him insane - but I held back. He believed what he said. Or, at least, he had once believed it. I wanted to know his truth, and no one but he could tell me.

When I didn't react, he shifted and searched my eyes.

"You usurped the Companions." He shook his head, his lips twitching when he saw my aghast expression. "You changed us, from one day to the next. I had tried so long to make us what we ought to be, to claim the respect we deserved and to change what we were - glorified sellswords and doomed beasts. And then you came, and suddenly we had a new purpose. The dragonslayers of Skyrim. Famed, respected and honoured, with the Dragonborn in our midst - and nothing more than your tools. When you called, everything else had to stand back."

He watched me expectantly, as if he waited for me to defend myself. I remembered how incredibly thankful I had been for the support of the Companions, back then when I had no idea what was waiting for me. For their sheer enthusiasm that made everything look so much easier. Vilkas had not once joined me as I worked through the Greybeard's map. I never thought about it, there were enough of them that were eager to do so.

When I remained quiet, he spoke on.

"But you weren't only Dragonborn, you were also part of the pack. Dustman's Cairn and everything afterwards – it shouldn't have happened. You knew too much, and what happened between you and Farkas... it was wrong."

"Nothing happened between us, Vilkas. You know that."

"Of course it did. You never let anyone come as close as my brother. Not even Aela or Athis. His wolf approved you, and the Circle was okay with it. As if you belonged to us. Aela and Skjor were ecstatic. They thought about offering you the blood, even back then."

"If they had asked, I would have declined."

"Would you now?" He shrugged. "They only didn't because Farkas made them promise not to. He didn't want to draw you into this mess that we were. But he pledged his life to you. I told him not to be silly, that it was just the curse of Hircine's magic, that he couldn't align his life to you just because his beast told him to. But he didn't listen. Said there was more, that you needed him and that he owed you, that he had fallen in love and that he'd never tell you."

He mirrored my position now, knees drawn to his chest and his arms clenched around his shins. We both sat curled together, as if we had to protect ourselves, but we also faced each other.

"It was something only between him and me, Vilkas. We would have worked it out if you had let us. We _did_ work it out when we finally could. It was hard and took a long time... but we did, and there was nothing magical about it. Just he and I, no Hircine involved. Your brother has a right to fall in love."

"Of course he has. Of course I wanted to see him happy. But not with you. Not with someone who'd never return what he had to offer, not with a spoiled brat that only used him, exploited his strength and his kindness and would dump him when he wasn't useful any more."

"You really believed that?"

"Well, you did, didn't you? When you came back from the Greybeards. And after he dumped his daughters to go with you to Labyrinthian. You were so full of yourself, and still he was full of understanding."

I blushed and hoped he wouldn't see it in the eerie light. After the fight against Nahfahlaar I had been an ass, and still he had been there when I needed him again. "You were afraid for him."

"Yes, that too. I didn't want him to throw his life away. But he refused to listen. Instead he broke his promise for you and left me alone with my beast, and the Circle was okay with that too. Even Kodlak told him he has to make his own decisions."

"Before, he did what _you_ told him."

"Perhaps. He always fared well with it. But now he started to ask questions we had long answered – for Morthal, for his beast, for his future. With you, he found new answers that didn't include me."

"He didn't want this, you know? It hurt him that you didn't want to understand him. I can't believe you trusted him so little. That all this boils down to him."

"It doesn't." He clenched his teeth. "He betrayed me and I hated him for it, but in the end, I would have lived with his choices, no matter how irrational they were. What I couldn't live with was that you had ensnared them all. Not only him, but Kodlak and the Circle, the whelps - and my own beast."

"I had no dealings with your beast."

"You have no idea." He snorted a bitter laughter. "We're close, Qhourian. We're twins and pack-brothers. Farkas chose you – as his mate, as his partner, as the woman he wanted to spend his life with. Call it as you will, but you made him happy – even back then. Happy and desperate, and we all knew that it was ultimate. When something like that happens... you really think it lets the other unfazed?"

"What does that mean?"

"It means that my wolf approved his brother's choice. He accepted you into the pack. Without reserve. It was one more reason to fight him - and one more fight I lost."

He took a deep breath, taking in my stunned expression, and spoke on, his voice blank and merciless. He laid himself bare to me, and he didn't care any more how I'd react. "Before he sent us off, Kodlak deprived me of my positions. I wasn't Master-of-Arms and his successor any more when we left for that job, and it was your fault. He wanted me to prove myself. And during that fight, when you got injured and I could smell your blood and your pain, my wolf nearly won. He wanted to protect you. But I couldn't let him, I had to prove that I was stronger, I couldn't lose against an _instinct_. It was your fault that I was too distracted to notice that that guy wasn't dead yet. And then you saved me at the expense of the child. It was only the last straw. You were so weak, you were the reason why we failed, but you still had the power to decide who lived and who died."

"I always thought... that you lost control. That it was more your wolf than you."

He bared his teeth in a snarl full of self-loathing. "No. I won. I broke you both. You should know by now that no beast would ever be so cruel." He jerked his head away, stared over the lake. His next words were barely audible. "He only took over when I realised that winning was worthless."

Everything he had told me… it didn't evoke the revulsion and anger it would have evoked only weeks earlier, that I should have felt after this glimpse into the abyss of his mind.

I always thought that Vilkas' aversion – his hatred, even if it took me far too long to see it as what it was – was something irrational, unfounded and unprovoked. Our relationship had declined over many months, and for me, Farkas' scrappy explanations were enough to explain his behaviour. I thought he was fickle and sulky and a presumptuous jerk who lashed out against me because he didn't have his brother all for himself any more, because I had these mysterious powers and because he needed a convenient culprit to blame for his own misery.

It needed his own dry, thorough, nearly analytical explanation to understand what was really going on in that twisted brain of his. He didn't palliate his reasons, and there was indeed a certain bizarre logic behind his accusations. He really fought against and felt abandoned by everyone that was important to him, and according to this logic, his attempt to get rid of me was the only way to save himself.

But the way he had answered my question also told me something else. He had laid his soul bare before me, all the fights he fought, all the mistakes he made, but it was neither justification nor an apology or a plea for judgement. We had long gotten beyond all this, had broken the vicious circles that held us in their grip – his of blame and violence, mine of self-blame and cowardice. We could take these unsentimental peeks into our abysses only because we had managed to crawl out of them. Back then, he would have never been able to give an account like the one he had presented me now. It told me that it had gone at least as far as I.

All that was left now was to come to terms with each other.

The silence between us built, but the cave around us seemed strangely alive, reminding me of the here and now. The chaurus clicked in the distance, the moist air smelled of mould, wet soil and the metallic tang of the minerals in the water, the occasional faint shriek or the rolling of pebbles down a slope revealed the manifold, dangerous life that surrounded us.

"I will not leave you alone here, Qhourian," he said after a long pause. "You can tell me to leave, and I will... but then you will have to find someone to take my place." His gaze wandered over the part of the strange, otherworldly panorama we could overlook.

"You gave me a promise."

"Yes. But I won't force you to take it. I forced you once too often." His index painted circles into the lose sand at his feet. "I made it more for me than for you, and I used it to press you. But it's worthless if you don't want it. That much I have learned."

"What else have you learned, Vilkas?"

"A lot. A lot about myself, and I'm not finished yet. A lot about my brother, and I'm sure he has some more surprises up his sleeve. And... I think I learned a bit about you. Not much... you're still a mystery to me. But at least I know now that I don't understand you."

"You're curious," I said with an incredulous chuckle.

The hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "I guess I am."

"You think we can use that? Is it... healthy?"

"Everything is healthier than what we had before."

Vilkas' face closed down into a frown when I pushed myself to my feet and climbed the small hill I had crossed on my way here. From the top, I had a marvellous overview over the landscape, even if the eerie lighting distorted distances and perspective. This undertaking we had started was _huge_. Lots of time to get to know each other. Lots of time to prove ourselves. For the first time I really believed that we could make this work.

I looked back at him. He stared at me, not even trying to hide his nervousness.

"I'll warn you when I'm gonna heal you, okay?"

His smile flashed up, made his face open and nearly boyish. "Let's go and find your Scroll."

* * *

"Qhourian? Are you okay?"

Vilkas knelt in front of me, a concerned expression on his face. We had just left another of these tall, impressive buildings that all looked the same after another fruitless search. "You're as pale as death. What's the matter?"

I groaned, my head buried in my palms. "It's nothing. Just a headache. Didn't sleep well." I scrambled to my feet and descended the stairs. "Let's go."

"Wait." He reached out, but he didn't try to hold me back. We never touched each other unless it was inevitable. But now he closed the distance between us, dispatching his gauntlet, and I flinched back from his cool palm on my forehead.

"What are you doing?"

"You've a fever," he said matter-of-factly.

"Bullshit," I barked, "werewolf, remember? We're immune to diseases."

"Yes, immune to infections. Not immune to collapse due to exhaustion. You haven't really slept for days now, and neither have you eaten reasonably."

He was right, only the thought of our dreary diet down here made me choke, and I didn't sleep well. Even worse than usually. Every time I closed my eyes I dreamt of the woods of Falkreath, of a fresh breeze smelling of pines and wet earth and of the moons guiding my hunt. I wondered if his wolf was as restless as mine, down here in the bowels of the earth.

"Sorry," I lowered my head, didn't dare to look him in the eyes. "It's just the stench. These Falmer reek, it makes me sick. A kingdom for a breath of fresh air." I forced a grin on my face. "And another one for a piece of dried horker instead of dried venison."

"Should we go back? To Alftand? Take a break, perhaps?"

"Gods, no! Not back, please. We've gone so far… surely this blasted tower must be somewhere here, doesn't it?"

I heard the despair in my voice and read in Vilkas' expression that it didn't escape him, but he didn't argue.

Blackreach had lost its fascination in the meantime… over the days and weeks we had spent down here the initial excitement had receded to a dull weariness, and that I had lost every sense of time drove me mad. The eerie light never changed, no day and night, and although we had found a rhythm of more or less regular sleeping periods, I had the feeling I was trapped in a bubble of timelessness. Nothing ever changed, nothing would ever change. No wonder the Falmer – and probably the Dwemer too – had gone mad. People weren't made for this kind of life.

But despite the enervating tediousness we searched thoroughly through every building that resembled only vaguely a tower, fought our way through hordes of Falmer and their pet bugs, just to leave empty-handed every single friggin' time. If only Septimus' directions had been a bit less vague. We had also given up on keeping semi-permanent camps. When our supplies dwindled and our packs became lighter, we just carried all our stuff with us and slept where we were when we both were too tired to go on.

The only distraction was Vilkas' search for those strange plants, a variety of the nirnroots we knew from the upper world, just that they emitted a strange, crimson glow and only grew down here. They had been the reason why the deceased alchemist I had found at the beginning had come to Blackreach in the first place. Vilkas had taken his journal and gathered these plants now, as if he wanted to take over this research.

That evening, while I still chewed on a stale, dry biscuit and tried to force it down with the mineral, lukewarm water that was all we found here – a kingdom for a taste of fresh, cold, sweet water! - Vilkas spread our map of Skyrim on a large table and marked it with crosses, symbols and lines while skimming through the notes he had taken since the beginning of our journey.

"What are you doing?" I asked curiously, putting the food away. I only ate anyway because I had to, not because I was hungry. The crumbly bar of cereals, nuts, dried berries and honey tasted of nothing, and every bite seemed to grow into a choking lump the longer I chewed it.

He didn't turn, just looked over his shoulder, his forehead frowned in concentration but with a rare smile on his face.

"I try to find out where we are. If this takes much longer, we will have to find a way out anyway. My enthusiasm for dry venison is waning as well," he chuckled, but then his eyebrows creased in concern. "You should try to rest, I'll keep watch."

He was worried, and it felt weird. "Wake me in a few hours," I mumbled. As if we knew how long a few hours were. But I also felt safe when I turned to the wall and tried to fall asleep.

We had become familiar with each other in the meantime, perhaps more familiar than ever before. It was inevitable when two people spent days and weeks so close together. Sometimes I even meant to feel a bit of the peace we had made before my initiation, although I still didn't trust this feeling. That peace had been treacherous as well, nothing more than a brittle truce.

We were still very cautious with each other, especially when it came to personal matters… and nearly everything that connected us – the Companions, his brother, our travels, how we had spent the last months – was a personal matter. Many open wounds, sore and raw, that neither of us wanted to touch carelessly, especially after our outbreak of sincerity at the lake. Perhaps we both sensed that it had started something, that something was in the making that was too fragile to be disturbed by bluntness.

I was grateful for his cautiousness.

But we worked well together. Surprisingly well, I had to admit. Somehow I had expected that once we were used to each other, fighting alongside Vilkas would be similar to Farkas. I couldn't have been more wrong, their fighting styles were as different as everything else. Farkas was a born protector. He put himself always into the midst of the fight, _made_ himself the centre of the fight to draw the attention of our foes, to keep them away from me and give me room for my own attacks. Vilkas was always ahead of me as well and took the brunt of the onslaught when we had to fight more than one enemy at a time. But his strategy was more to harm them as fast and severe as possible than to prevent that they harmed us. A killer, not a protector.

As a shield-brother, he was much more demanding than Farkas, but he also proved on more than one occasion that I could trust his attentiveness. Fighting with him was fun and effective. I had never seen the twins fight together, not in a serious battle, but now I could imagine that they were indeed an unstoppable, fearsome duo.

Next morning, after another restless night, Vilkas took the lead, rushed ahead into the near darkness of a region that didn't look as if it contained anything worth exploring.

"Hey," I yelled after him, "where are you going?"

"Surprise!" He grinned back at me, but he seemed absolutely certain where he was heading. I was too tired to argue, for once glad just to be led and not to have to think on my own. I followed him for hours while he compared his maps over and over again, the one of Skyrim and the crude sketch of Blackreach he had drawn himself. Somehow he seemed to have a sense of direction and of the distance we covered that I lacked entirely. When finally a round pavilion with an iron gate came into view, he nearly ran towards it. It looked exactly like the entrance to the Alftand elevator at the surface, just a bit smaller, a broad metal tube vanishing above it into the cave's glittering ceiling.

Vilkas turned the lever and stood bowed in the now open door to the room with the big, circular platform.

"After you, M'Lady," he said with a smile, "welcome to Mzinchaleft."

Daylight! Fresh air! Drizzling sleet! Low hanging clouds and an icy wind that went through marrow and bone!

It was glorious.

"Vilkas, you're a bloody genius," I shrieked when I ran out into the open, shining with happiness, holding my face upwards into the wet snowflakes. He still stood in the narrow dome that concealed the lift on the surface, and… he had the look on his face that he also wore when he dealt with his nieces in Morthal. I didn't mind. My fatigue was blown away with the first deep breath I took. The sun was already setting, but it didn't matter… just to know what time of day it was seemed to give me back a good chunk of my mental stability.

Underground we had gone steadily westwards and crossed a good part of the distance back to Morthal, and we came out in the mountains not far from the road we had taken on our way to Alftand. We found a sheltered place between some rocks to make camp, and when we had settled at a small fire, I sighed with relief. And I outright refused the piece of that wretched dried meat we had eaten for weeks now when Vilkas pulled the rations from his pack.

"No. Not tonight."

He didn't say a word, but he put it away, didn't eat it himself either.

"You know what I want, tomorrow in Dawnstar?" I sighed wistfully, not waiting for his answer. "Grilled leeks and baked potatoes. With garlic sauce." The thought alone watered my mouth.

He chuckled. "Sounds good. But I think I'd prefer… an apple pie." He closed his eyes and groaned in exaggerated bliss. "Or a sweetroll. You think they have sweetrolls in Dawnstar?"

"You always had a sweet tooth," I grinned, "both you and Farkas. I wonder what Tilma fed you when you were small."

"Mmmh. Tilma's sweetrolls… they're the best."

He was relaxed, and he had let his guard down. His face showed a longing that was clearly not only for Tilma's treats.

"Vilkas?" Halflidded, unreadable eyes looked at me. "She'd be happy to stuff you up with her treats until they grow out of your ears."

"You think so?"

I nodded. "I'm sure." A small smile crept into his features.

When the clouds finally broke up and Masser poured his light down on us, I couldn't and didn't want to hold back any longer. Vilkas didn't move, but he watched me closely as I took off my armour until I stood before him, barefooted and clad only in an old undertunic.

"Join me?" My gaze pierced into his. I felt his urge. Smelled his desire to give in and the struggle he fought against the restrictions he had imposed on himself. And I wanted to run with him. When he rose to his knees, his hands already at the buckles of his pauldrons, I gave him a baretoothed grin and darted away into the darkness.

I let her free and she took over with a happy yelp, the heat coiling at the bottom of my spine easing away all the strains and tensions that had built up during the endless days in the glowing darkness. I had missed her, I had missed the feeling of being one with my beast, and the moons guided us on our joyous run through the snow-covered landscape, me and the man-wolf chasing behind. We took on a pair of frost trolls, hunted and fought and fed, each of us with his own prey and nevertheless together. I tore through flesh and bones until I was sated, and then I ran, the pent up energy releasing in a frantic, aimless chase. I tried to wear myself out, tried to wear her out, hunted and killed just for the game and pursued my own shadow.

Until his howl stopped me, the silhouette of the wolf standing proud on top of a hill, his monstrous head thrown back, muzzle and claws pointing to the stars. He waited for my answer, and when he got it he dropped to all fours and stalked towards me, like the predator that he was, slowly gaining speed. Deep, guttural growls came out of his throat, but he didn't want a hunt. I wasn't prey.

He wanted… I didn't know what he wanted, and I made a run for it. But he gave chase, followed my trail close enough to let me sense him near, to hear his panting and smell his scent, and I knew he could have overwhelmed me easily if he wanted. But when the attack came, the tackle from behind that sent me tumbling and rolling down a narrow hill, it came unexpected, and he was over me in an instant. Nearly as large as Farkas he locked me easily under his weight, ignored my thrashing and writhing, but he was careful not to use his claws, careful not to hurt me.

I would not submit, and I wasn't afraid, ready to run although he used his fangs to keep me down. But his smell was confusing, not hunter, not mate, just… I didn't know. I couldn't read him. His teeth didn't hurt me, pressing in only so hard that I felt them, not even piercing the fur, but he towered over me and held me down with all his weight and his strength, as if he expected me to fight back any moment.

But I didn't feel the urge to attack him. And when he released me from his bite and stood above me, golden gazes locked in a silent struggle, I lay still and relaxed, let him sniff my neck, nuzzle his snout against mine and lick the troll blood from the side of my face. Until he was suddenly gone again, vanished into the darkness with a fast, powerful leap.

When I returned to our camp, sated and tired, he was already there, curled inside his bedroll into a ball as near to the fire as possible. It wasn't really the climate to camp outside without a tent, but I'd rather freeze than spend the night anywhere but here under the stars. I knew he didn't sleep, but I left him alone. I was warmed by the flames, my furs and the lingering excitement of the change running through my veins, watched the clouds drift past the stars and the moons, and eventually I heard him whimper through his restless dreams. When I finally fell asleep myself I dreamt of pine woods, the wind in my fur, a white stag and of my mate.

During the short trip to Dawnstar, Vilkas was considerate, but distant like he had always been. Nothing had changed. The wolf had overwhelmed me, and I did not understand it, but he hadn't threatened me. Vilkas sensed my calmness, and I felt his relief. It was just something else that remained unsaid between us, something in abeyance. He didn't try to hurt me, and for the moment, nothing else was important.

We had to to restock our supplies, and the trip gained us the very much needed diversion in our diet, a fast march through the wintry landscape and another cherished night out in the open, but apart from that it was annoying. Dawnstar was depressing and cold, its citizens inhospitable and cranky. And resentful. I had only been here a couple of times on jobs for the Companions, and now one of them fell back on me.

Once I had beaten some common sense and decency into the mushy brain of the owner of the local quicksilver mine, on behalf of his divorced wife - who owned the competing mine at the other end of the village and after he had harassed her for months. I had been here with Torvar, and Leigelf even got to chose who of us he preferred to beat him to clump. He had chosen me, and he had not forgotten the lesson, even if he didn't learn anything from it.

Vilkas was at the apothecary while I haggled with the inn-keeper for rations and a few bottles of mead – and he seriously refused to sell me anything unless I rented a room. No way, I'd certainly not spend a whole precious night in a stuffy room when Blackreach was waiting for me.

The man was suddenly there, the stench of old sweat that mingled with stone dust and ale alerting me before I even saw him. I leant tired and annoyed against the wooden counter when two hands propped themselves left and right of me on the bar, trapping me between them.

"My, if that isn't the Companion bitch," he drawled into my ear. I froze, suppressing the reflex to ram my elbows into his kidneys, turn and shout him through the window. I didn't want trouble, not when I only wanted to leave this dreary place as fast as possible.

The inn-keeper who watched us with pinched features. He wouldn't intervene – inn-keepers never intervened into quarrels between their guests, not until their furniture got smashed up.

"She doesn't want to stay for the night?" he said, grinning at the keep. "You know... word is those Companions all live together in one big hall. Wouldn't you think she'd love a bit of privacy?"

"Leigelf," I pressed out, "take your dirty hands off me, or they'll not be able to hold a pickaxe ever again."

He didn't move a single inch, only bowed down his head. His breath was moist and reeking on my neck, sweat glistening on his nearly bald head. "You need to soften up a bit, Companion," he whispered. "We just want to keep you company. Don't we, Thoring?"

"Like the last time I _kept you company_?" I snarled.

"Oh, but it's not like last time. Now you're all alone, you're cold and hungry and have no one to keep the nightmares away. Something's in the air, you know? No one sleeps well nowadays. We can help you through that, as the gentlemen that we are."

Thoring looked more than uncomfortable, and had enough when I felt his left hand sliding over my hip. Gripping his wrist, I pulled the dagger from my belt when his disgusting presence was suddenly gone. Vilkas had taken him in a headlock, his forearm pressing into his throat, and yanked his arm from my grip. He let out a pained, gurgling sound and struggled weakly as he was dragged out of the door without a word.

When I left the inn, Vilkas had thrown him down the stairs and stood above him, the tip of his sword at his throat. He would impale himself with a single false motion.

"Apologise," he growled.

Leigelf remained quiet, his gaze flickering full of hate to me. Vilkas placed the heel of his boot on the thumb of his right hand and shifted his weight. The crunch of the breaking bone was drowned out by a scream that was cut short when a drop of blood ran down the miner's neck.

"Leave it, Vilkas," I said sharply.

Vilkas moved his foot from his victim's hand, but he didn't remove his sword.

"Apologise."

Leigelf lifted the other hand, the only movement he dared to make. "Okay okay," he cried, "I'm sorry, okay?"

Vilkas took a step back, but he held his sword ready. A cruel smirk played around his lips. "Get out of my eyes."

When Leigelf had stumbled to his feet and run around a corner, holding his injured hand, and Vilkas turned with a satisfied smirk to me, I punched him in the chest. "You think I can't deal with such vermin on my own?"

He furrowed his brows into a frown. "Of course you can. But you shouldn't have to."

"And what impression does it make when I have to be saved from a piece of skeevershit like that?"

Now his frown showed genuine confusion. "He touched you, Qhourian. He had his dirty hands on you. You really care what he _thinks_? He made that pretty clear already."

My anger dissolved and I lowered my head. Of course I didn't care. I just didn't want to be pampered, and least of all by him. On the other hand, I wondered how I'd have reacted if he had done nothing at all.

"You would have done the same," Vilkas said curtly.

I cocked my head at him. "Yep. But from me, it would have sufficed to _threaten_ him with broken bones."

He shot me a smirk as he turned to the inn. Thoring stood in the open door and looked as if he wanted to get rid of us as soon as possible. "We need supplies," Vilkas said, pointing at me. "You will sell us whatever she wanted for whatever she offered. Understood?"

Sometimes Vilkas being an ass was pretty convenient.

We descended back into the depths of Blackreach with new determination. More ruins, more Falmer, chaurus and machines, but this time it took only a few days and some more fruitless searches through long abandoned buildings until a new landmark caught our eyes. A giant sphere hanging from a massive metal chain led us to the a part of the city that looked suspiciously like the centre of all of Blackreach. It loomed over it with a bright, golden glow, shimmering like a false moon. The vast complex of buildings was enclosed by a wall thrice my height, sitting on top of a hill and overlooking the surrounding area like a castle.

And here, in the centre of this kingdom where we expected it least, we found people. Not only degenerated Snow Elves, but real people. Nords, Imperials, even some Redguards and Elves. Men, women and children, dead eyes in sickly pale faces that hadn't seen the sun for years – or never. Clad in rags, but armed. Broken enough to be armed by their masters.

Servants and slaves to the Falmer, held like cattle. Obedient like cattle. Their death by our hands was no release, and our death by their hands would have changed nothing. Not for them.

The only entrance to the large courtyard was a huge gate, the gate-wings long fallen from their hinges, but it was guarded. Large men, better fed than the others, unarmoured but armed with rusty maces and dented blades. It should have made me suspicious that they guarded the inside of the gate, that they were there to prevent escape, not intrusion. But I was too shocked to see these familiar faces all of a sudden, too convinced we had found an enclave of human life, forgotten and forsaken for the gods knew how long… I just wanted to speak with them, and they caught me completely off guard.

They attacked on sight as if they had waited for me, shrieking in the strange, monotonous language of their masters while Vilkas jumped out of his cover and to my side. We backed away into a corner of the courtyard as fast as we could, and then they were upon us, so many of them, wave after wave of emotionless faces and frail bodies. Human faces, bare of any remains of humanity. Their order was to eliminate us, and they'd do what they were ordered to please their masters, tear us apart with their bare hands if necessary… or die trying. So many, pouring out of the buildings, an endless stream of hopelessness.

But there were Falmer hiding between them, archers, their arrows dripping with poison, but unreachable for us under the onslaught of their minions. They didn't care whom they hit to get through to us, people writhing in poison-induced agony at our feet, arrows flying, deflected, hitting others with dull thuds… until one of them hit me, pierced its way through my pauldron and into my shoulder.

Vilkas' greatsword held the onslaught at bay while I fumbled the antidote from my belt, but there were too many, hands grabbing, rusty knives and crude clubs bashing at us, clawlike fingers holding my wrist before I could take the flagon to my mouth.

They were too many. I jerked violently out of the grip.

_"FUS RO DAH!"_

Silence, at least for a few seconds, the foul liquid extinguishing the dizziness in my head and numbing the pain that flowed from the wound through my veins. Vilkas drew me upstairs, away from the masses, to a higher, better defendable position.

And then I heard it, and I couldn't believe what I heard – the heavy flaps of leathery wings, a familiar roar, the stench of sulphur and molten stone, the earthshattering impact.

A dragon, trapped a mile beneath the sky where he belonged. Instead he was sated with the heat of the earth, glowing red and orange like a stream of lava, ready to unleash his fury and his fire upon us. I didn't know where he came from all of a sudden, if I had summoned or awoken him, but the disturbance of his age-old sleep obviously annoyed him. Within seconds the courtyard was entirely depopulated, the army of our enemies either blasted into heaps of smouldering flesh or fled behind the massive doors of the buildings. Only the archers on top of the wall remained, but now I had room to take care of them while Vilkas jumped into the fight with the beast.

The battle was short, but frantic. The dragon was trapped between the buildings, he didn't have enough space to spread his wings or manoeuvre his gigantic body to his liking, and it wasn't hard to stay behind him, out of reach of fangs and claws, and attack from relative safety.

While already collapsing he released a last furious, fiery breath, filling the courtyard with reeking smoke. I nearly suffocated while his soul found me, but Vilkas waited, coughing and choking himself, and dragged me out through the gate and down to the river until we were sure no one was following us.

"Gods," I panted, lying spread on my back, completely drained, "where did that thing come from?"

"No idea." Vilkas collapsed beside me after he had filled his waterskin. "Seems they follow you everywhere."

I snatched it from his hands before he could empty it completely. "I hope not."


	9. Silent City

"You're green."

I was swallowing convulsively the saliva that gathered in my mouth, fighting the waves that churned through my stomach. Damned poison, and the foul water had only made it worse. I was too tired to move, even knowing that the nausea would be better if I got up. The adrenaline of the fight had resolved into complete exhaustion, my limps glued to the ground as if they were filled with lead. I'd just stay here, stare at the ceiling of the cave that looked so surprisingly like a star-spangled sky and wait until the fine dust in the air had buried me.

If Vilkas would just let me. I managed to turn my head. He lay motionless on his back like me, his sword beside him.

"I'm fine."

"Of course you are. Suits you, that colour."

"Ass."

"May I ask you a question?"

"We gotta get going."

"No. I need a rest."

"_You_ need a rest?"

Now he turned his head to me. The corners of his mouth twitched. "Yeah. I'm tired."

Vilkas was _never_ tired, and if he was, he'd never admit it. When he suggested a rest, it was only because it was reasonable and we had to pace ourselves.

I propped myself on my elbows, my head dizzy. I _felt_ green, but it would be better when I was up and doing something to distract me. He was just pampering me. "No, you're not."

A chortle escaped him. He had cushioned his head on his forearm and didn't look as if he was going to move any time soon. "How does it feel to devour the soul of a dragon?"

I frowned at him, fighting myself to my feet. "I don't devour them, that's disgusting. And now let's go."

He turned his head to me, grinning. "Well, you look as if you were digesting it right now. Tell me. What do you do with them?"

"My Scroll is waiting in there." I made a few steps towards the gate and heard him scramble to his feet behind me.

"Yeah. Since a few thousand years. I'm curious, Qhourian."

My head tilted into my neck, I looked up to the palace. It was a magnificent complex of several buildings that were connected by the broad wall and stone bridges high above the ground. Three enormous towers rose from the corners towards the ceiling, the metal doors, tubes and roofs gleaming in the warm golden light of the globe. It was so different from the cold blue glow of the mushrooms we had spent the last weeks in that it alone made the place feel homey.

It was far from that, though, billows of black smoke still rising from the charred corpses of men and mer when I passed the threshold. I searched through the remains of the dragon when Vilkas jogged through the gate.

"The only description I have is from you." He only arched an eyebrow. Many people had asked me this question, and I never liked to answer it. It was something I barely understood myself. "You remember when you explained to me how soulstones work?"

He nodded, lifting the skull to give me access to a few tiny scales that gleamed in a fiery orange.

"Well, that's how it is. I guess."

"You take their souls like a soulstone?"

I nodded, stuffing the scales into my pack. They were pretty, perhaps Eorlund could make some trinkets from them. Dragonscale jewellery would be something really exclusive. "In a way. You said that a soul is some kind of energy, and that's how they feel."

"But aren't they unique?"

"No. Yes, of course, they're individual souls. But once they're dead, only power is left. They're no personalities any more. I guess the same happens with the souls of people who get trapped in black soulgems."

"But you take them into yourself."

I turned on my heels, trying to decide where to start our search. Several entrances led inside the buildings – or tracts of the same – but none directly into one of the towers at the corners of the courtyard. Those were our goal. "Yes, but they don't become a part of me. They're far too alien. And strong, at the beginning I was afraid they would change me. But they haven't, not really."

"Let's take that one." Vilkas pointed at a metal door that led into the largest building, an enormous complex of grey walls that filled nearly half of the space inside the walls. It was also the door most of the people had fled through when the dragon came. "Does it hurt?"

"Yeah. To take them hurts, but it's also... I feel as if I had to burst, and as if I could fly. Like a super potent stamina potion. And then it's exhausting."

"Like your shouting."

"Yeah. What they give me... it's too much for a mortal. We're not made for it." We had reached the entrance, and Vilkas pushed the door open. In one regard he was just like his brother – he was unable to be quiet. He didn't even try. His boots battered the ground, his armour creaked, he cursed and muttered under his breath when something didn't go according to his plans. His foes found him easily, and that was how he liked it.

But the entrance hall was empty and eerily quiet. It was treacherous, and I wondered where those who had fled from the dragon hid now. Vilkas only shot me a look over his shoulder as he inspected a few items on a shelf, shiny dishes and some things that looked only like metal scraps.

"Perhaps... someone who's not Dragonborn would just die. Or go insane. Perhaps that's what makes you so special."

I answered his look pensively. There was curiosity and thoughtfulness, but no derision. He had always treated me like a freak – but now, I got the feeling that he really wanted to understand.

"Perhaps you have to be insane right from the start," I chuckled. "I don't know. All I know is that I'm a mess. A part of me wants them... craves for this power, no matter how much it hurts. It's mine alone. Arngeir says it's our will to dominate. Another part loathes them. They're intruders I have to live with."

"I guess you have. And you will need it for your fight against Alduin." He cocked his head. "Left or right?"

A huge stairway led up to a platform with a large stone table and benches around it, two more left and right of it led downwards.

"Left." I always took the left turn. We didn't want to go down, but it seemed now we didn't have a choice.

It turned out that the whole city complex had a full-size basement, a maze of sewers and cisterns, store-rooms and halls full of steaming machinery, most of them drowned by water that reached well over our ankles. It was blessedly empty, only the occasional Falmer guard darting around corners with enervating shrieks. I had the suspicious feeling that they used this horrible maze as a shortcut to get from one end of the complex to the other. We, however, got hopelessly lost in the damp darkness, even Vilkas' infallible sense of direction failing down here. Wet torches filled the air with smoke that made me cough and choke, and I started to freeze despite the humid warmth. But every stairway we tried only led out into the courtyard again, and it took hours until we got a basic impression of the general layout and finally found out which corridors led along the outer wall and to the towers.

It was in the second tower, I was tired and frustrated and on my own because Vilkas and I had split and searched adjacent rooms to speed up this tiresome procedure, and again it was a shock to meet the people who lived here. This time, they were only three, two women and a man huddled up together in the corner of an otherwise empty room, looking at me from wide open eyes blazing with fear. They had rusty daggers at their hips, but one of the women raised an empty hand towards me, a gurgling sound coming from her throat – as if she wanted to form a word and didn't know how.

My instinct told me they were not dangerous, that they were hopeless and broken and that they needed help. But the woman's gesture turned into one of defence when I approached them, panic in her face while the man rose to his knees.

She was the first one who showed a hint of human reaction to my presence, the first sign of communication. I wanted to talk to her, ask her what she needed, why they were here, so many of them enslaved by the Falmer, and I let out a humming noise to calm her. But she froze in shock when I hunched down in front of her and took her hand in mine.

I didn't get opportunity to ask, the lightning bolt that slammed into her chest tearing her from my grip and hurling her against the wall. I spun around and faced a shaman standing in the doorway, his claws clenched around a gnarled staff that pointed at me now. Half of his face was hidden behind a black, chitinous mask, and he seemed to grin at me – a mockery of a human expression that was countered by the high-pitched shriek he let out. I jumped to my feet, raised Dragonbane and sucked in a breath in a single motion, but I made a mistake... a mistake that should never have happened, the stupidity of a whelp. I turned my back to my enemies.

Before I could let the Shout loose, a thin, sinewy arm came with astonishing strength around my throat. Something scratched over the scales in my back and I let myself fall to the side, forming a tangle of limps with the man who had attacked me. But it also saved me, the lightning bolt only hitting the wall above me.

I had to get out of this headlock to get access to the only weapon that was able to reach the mage, but I had no leverage, the man not letting go and stabbing with his dagger wherever he could reach, the other woman trying to wrench the sword from my grip. I yanked back my head and felt something break, the impact dazing me for a second as pain shot in red-hot needles through my brain. The Falmer just rose his staff again when a dark shadow appeared behind him.

Vilkas wore a feral snarl that erupted in a roar as he beheaded the creature with a single strike, stormed into the room and shoved his sword into the chest of the woman with so much force that the tip broke through her back. His hand was covered in her blood when he yanked it out again and let it fall away, grabbed the man's wrist that still clenched around my throat and broke it with a violent jerk. The scream was cut short when the Companion's boot crushed into his face and shattered his jaw, a second purposeful kick against his temple breaking his neck.

A growl came from deep in his chest as his gaze darted through the room, and I recognised this growl – as much as the dark rings that lay around his pupils. His wolf was about to take over. I couldn't let that happen.

I jumped to my feet the moment he turned with another roar towards the woman the shaman's first attack had hit.

My hand on his shoulder was firm. "Vilkas." He spun around, and for the fraction of a second I was sure to become his next prey. Predatory rage flared in his features. "She's dead." At least I hoped so. If she moved now, he would snap. His breathing was laboured, grinding teeth betraying his fight for control, his muscles twitching under my palm. The whole man was strung to the breaking point, a single false motion and the tension would release.

I had to calm him down. Instead to back off, I made a step towards him, my hand coming up, my palm resting against his cheek. "Not here, Vilkas," I said as calm as possible. "It's okay. I'm okay." At least I had his attention now, his gaze piercing into mine, flaring with inhuman wrath. I held it and forced myself to breathe evenly.

The growl that vibrated in his throat didn't subside as his eyes flitted erratically from my face through the room, searching for danger, and came to rest on my neck. "You're bleeding," he snarled, baring his teeth.

The man had cut me, but it was only a shallow scratch. It would be easy to heal, but not now. No magic as long as he hadn't calmed down. "It's nothing." I held his gaze.

I was trying to tame a werewolf, a man who was known for his unbridled fits of violence and uncontrolled temper. But in the end, the only one who could reign him in was he himself, and I could just try to help.

He was just protecting me. I was nervous, anxious and angry with myself, but I didn't even get the idea of being afraid of him. And then, for a long moment, his gaze came to rest on my face before he closed his eyes. He exhaled a long breath that took a bit of the tension with it, nestling his jaw into my hand like a whelp begging for attention.

I was glad when he made a step backwards and broke the contact. His shoulders were still tightly coiled, but his eyes had their silver-blue colour back.

"You're okay?"

I nodded. "Thank you. I was careless."

"Heal yourself." I did, and despite the display of magic he seemed to become calmer when the bleeding stopped. He only looked terribly exhausted as he rubbed his palm over his face, his skin ashen and beads of sweat on his forehead. He flinched slightly when I touched his elbow.

"Come on. We'll rest for a moment."

One of the rooms we had searched previously had a bar on the inside of the door, a small chamber with a few shelves, stone table and benches and a platform that looked remarkably like the beds in Markarth. I unwrapped my bedroll and placed it on top of it after I locked the door. When I turned to Vilkas, he watched me with a stoic expression.

"You're tired?"

"No." Yes, I was, but not more or less than I was constantly anyway. "But you are."

"I don't need rest if you want to go on."

"You wanted a rest before we even started. Sleep if you want, I'll keep watch."

He arched an eyebrow, but didn't argue, discarded his gauntlets and settled with his back to the wall, his legs dangling over the edge of the platform. As if he wanted to leave enough room for me as well. He tilted his head into his neck and closed his eyes.

But I took place back to front on a chair, my arms crossed on top of the backrest, rested my forehead on them and let my thoughts doze away. It was quiet and peaceful in the little room, only Vilkas' even breathing audible. If someone tried to enter he would have to use brute force, and I'd be long alert before that happened.

We had both pressed onwards relentlessly, if only not to admit a weakness to the other, but the constant alertness in this cursed realm, bad nourishment and the lack of daylight were more straining than we wanted to admit. If we weren't successful soon, we'd have to get out of here and take a break that was longer than the few hours we had spent in Dawnstar. My thoughtlessness today and his obvious difficulties to control himself were only another reminder that we were both getting to the bottom of our strength.

I could just hope that Vilkas would be able to find Raldbthar, the third entry point to Blackreach we knew about after Alftand and Mzinchaleft.

I didn't know how long we stayed like this, but somehow it was more restful than a fruitless attempt to sleep. Eventually he had taken off his pauldrons and lay on his side when I glanced over to him, curled into a ball with one hand resting under his cheek. It made me smile. He slept in the same position as his brother, and now, with tousled strands of hair falling into his face and the lines of his face eased of their harshness and tension, he looked more than ever like Farkas.

That he was able to relax so deeply in my company only showed how far we had come, and that I could relax like this in his made it even clearer. I had taught him respect and to take me seriously, and that lesson had been painful for us both. But we had gone beyond that. Now we knew we could rely on each other.

A movement on the bed and Vilkas' quiet voice startled me up. "I thought you're keeping watch," he said, but there was only calmness in his expression when I turned my head, my cheek resting on my forearm.

"You look better," I said.

"You too. You're not green any more." He stretched himself and propped his temple into his palm. A smirk tugged at his lips. "I have more questions."

"Still curious about the dragon?" I chortled.

"Yes. And about your wolf. How are you doing with her? Are they getting along?"

A question like this, so intimate and personal, would have embarrassed me deeply from him not long ago. But not any more. It was something that tied us together.

"How could they not? Of course they do. When I have to shout... the dragon part takes over, and she doesn't like it. And she's happiest when I let her free. But it's not that one part of me would fight against the other." I had had the same concerns before I took the blood, but Kodlak had allayed them. And of course he had been right.

"But wolves don't like to be dominated. Especially not wolves like ours."

I wasn't sure if he didn't want to understand or if he couldn't. I straightened myself, lifted my arms over my head and stretched my weary limbs. "But they're us, Vilkas. There's no intruder. The dragon is a part of me... and I have no comparison how it would be without him. And the wolf is a part of me too. Sometimes I fight with myself, but I can't dominate myself. It's just what we are."

His eyes shot up, locking on my face. "This is not what I am!"

"Oh yes, it is. Remember... twenty years ago, when you took the blood. Do you still know how it felt?"

His eyes darkened. "Yes," he said quietly, "of course I do, as if it was yesterday. The rage. The hunger. The bloodthirst. The power it has over me, these urges I can't resist. And it has never stopped."

"Is that all? You don't have a single positive memory?"

His face contorted as if in pain, but he answered. "You know the ecstasy of the hunt, the pleasure to kill and to feed. To still the hunger. The joy and the freedom and power, and the safety of the pack. You know all this."

"Yes, I know, and for me it's worth it. But that's not what I was getting at." I tilted my head, watched him intently. He was full of rapt attention. "You believe there's dark magic at play and that the beast is something strange you can get rid of. I don't doubt the magic and that Hircine has his fingers in it. But... well, I told you that I know how it feels when something alien enters your being. My beast... she's not alien. It wasn't in Aela's blood. It was there before and only awoke. Perhaps it got enhanced by the magic, perhaps it got some kind of... independence and it certainly got the ability to take a certain form, but it was there before. It was always a part of me."

Slowly he sat up, staring at me as if he had never seen me before. "But... isn't that terrifying? The feeling that this... thing... is a part of you?"

I shook my head. "No. She completes me, even if it's sometimes a fight. She's desperate when I'm sad, when I'm angry she's furious… but she's still me. You know how that feels."

"Yes, I know how that feels. It's terrifying." He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. I wondered what made him admit this so openly.

"But it's not our beasts that make it hard for us. As a part of us, we can control it. But if you fight it... or suppress it, you only hurt yourself. It's cruel... and that's something entirely human. You said it yourself."

He was silent for long moments. "That's what I did," he said finally. "What I tried."

"And it hurt you." He didn't answer, only lowered his head. "Our wolves are like us, Vilkas. Look at our siblings. I've hunted with Aela, and her wolf is like her, just fiercer and wilder. Or Farkas. His wolf is nearly tame, disciplined, efficient, almost gentle... just like your brother. And I would bet that yours has a temper. What do you think, what kind of wolf would... Tilma become?"

The question forced a feeble smile on his face. "A toothless puppy. She can't even kill a fly."

"Yeah, I thought the same," I snickered. "Aela explained a lot to me before I took the blood. She said that we're always both, always man and beast, but I knew that already, since Dustman's Cairn. But afterwards, I finally understood. We're always both. Everybody is always both, only that we are aware of it."

"And that makes us less human than others."

"No. It just makes us different. And for me... she is my proof that I'm just a woman. In her, there's _no dragon_. She is more human than some people will ever concede me to be, and for me, that's a gift."

He had buried his forehead in his palms, deep in thought, and he didn't look up when he finally started to speak again.

"I envy you, that you can accept it so easily. All of you. I always did. Perhaps you're right. But nothing will change that it has been forced upon us. For me, it will always be a curse. A treacherous, pleasurable curse I'm forced to accept or it will destroy me, but nevertheless a curse. Hircine has us in his grip, and we have no choice any more."

"That's true," I said quietly. "If you can't accept this choice you once made, you're doomed. But there's worse fates than to live in a pack like ours. And for me... I knew what it meant when I made it."

"It wasn't your decision. You were pressed into it as well."

I gave him a good-natured grin. "Don't overestimate yourself, Vilkas. I would have taken the blood with or without you or Hircine's intervention. It's easier with Farkas around, though," I admitted.

"Really? They influence each other?"

"Yes. It works for both of us, but it's more important for me. She's easier to handle when her mate is near. Calmer. Everybody knows how well-behaved his wolf is," I chuckled.

"You miss him, don't you?"

The question startled me, it came so unexpected. But it was bare of malice. I nodded. "Yeah. Like crazy. I hope he's fine."

His smile was gentle. "He isn't. He misses you too. He wants nothing more than for you to come home."

It was quiet for some time, then I heard him chuckle. I was glad that he had shaken off this broody mood.

"I know why your dragon and your wolf don't like each other."

"Do you now?"

"Yeah. Because he's male, and she's female. That can't work."

I laughed out loud. Vilkas had made a joke, and it wasn't even spiteful.

"Sorry to shatter your beliefs, but dragons don't have a gender. It's easy to think of them as male because they're so loud and rash and violent," I chuckled when his lips quirked in amusement, "but… they just are. Imagine they would breed!"

"Horrible idea." When I tied the waterskin to my belt and stood up, he reached out and touched my wrist.. "Wait...," he said. "One more question."

I looked enquiringly at him, nodding. This conversation was enervating personal. I didn't know why he was suddenly so insistent, but it seemed he wanted to use the opportunity and squeeze as much information out of me as possible.

He gave me a sheepish grin. "Why is your hair white? And what colour did it have when you were a child?"

The question made me blush deeply, with embarrassment and with anger. My awkward reaction made him frown. "Sorry...," he said, but I interrupted him.

"Why do you wanna know? I'm no whelp any more!" I snapped.

"Yeah, I know. It's just..." Now he blushed as well. "You're weird, you know? I mean... you're so much. Werewolf and Companion and Dragonborn. You're strange in so many regards, you've survived so much, you have all these powers and you will save the world from Akatosh's son. You're a hero and a legend. Like Talos. If you wanted, you could end this war and throw out the Dominion and become next High Queen. And the Icebrain just married you!" His hands clenched in his lap. He was embarrassed and stared from wide open eyes at my aghast expression as I stood up and slung my pack to my back.

For him, I was just _weird_. That was what all this sudden interest boiled down to. Perhaps he didn't regard me with as much revulsion any more as he once had, but I was still just an abomination. An object of study, and if he could, he would dissect me to satisfy his curiosity.

I threw back the bar and stormed through the door and towards the stairway that led up to the next floor. I knew the layout of these towers in the meantime, there would be a large circular room in the centre and many smaller ones lined up on the outer wall. Vilkas called something, and then I heard heavy footsteps rushing after me.

I didn't care. Usually we cleared the corridor first before we searched through the rooms, but now I stormed into the central hall without a second look. The small group of Falmer in there died in an inferno of dragonfire, one of the warriors that came running through the door with a arrow through his chest, and only two were left to engage in close combat.

I managed to hold them both at a distance. _They_ were abominations, degenerated, cruel, unhuman.

Perhaps I was unhuman as well. That's what Vilkas thought, and he was smart, after all. Strange like Talos! Perhaps I had no right to be treated like a woman. Perhaps I had no right to want to be normal, to love his brother and be a part of the Companions.

I clenched my teeth when he stormed into the room, surveying the situation in the fraction of a second. The moment Dragonbane pierced through the chest of one of the Falmer, he beheaded the other from behind.

We stared at each other, breathing heavily and the corpses between us.

"I know I'm a freak," I snapped, "and you know what? You forgot some pigeon-holes to file me in. I'm also a whore and an escaped criminal, and a stray and a weakling." I had tears in my eyes, the smoke and the stench of burning flesh making my stomach churn again.

I barrelled past him to leave the room. He held me back, his hand clenching around my upper arm. I froze. The last time he had tried this, I had beaten him to clump.

When I spun around, his grip loosened, but he didn't let go, and he started to speak before I could yell at him.

"No, you're not," he said calmly, lowering his sword, "and I didn't say that. You're just a woman. Sometimes you're awfully touchy, and... I should have found better words. But you _are_ weird. In many regards, and that we're here together and talking about this is not the least."

The moment his hand fell to his side, I made a step backwards. "A bit late, that insight," I spat.

"I know. Much too late. It took me until I saw you again." He blushed and bit his lip, raking his free hand through his hair. His reaction made me suspicious.

"In Skyhaven?"

The fingers clenched around the hilt of his sword were white, but his didn't avoid my gaze as he shook his head. "Much earlier. In Falkreath." He swallowed. "I was aware, you know? I was trapped in the change and had no control over myself, but Hircine made sure that I was able to savour every single moment."

My breath caught, heat shooting into my face as I remembered what had happened in that cell. What he was getting at.

"I knew you were there. I saw how you indulged yourself into my torment. I waited for you to kill me, and I saw you both." A trace of amusement flared over his face, gone the moment it appeared. Only a sad smile remained. "I saw him cry for me, and how you cried for him. You caught him. He needed nothing more than you, and it didn't matter any more why you were there - in that moment, nothing mattered for you but my brother, and he could fall into your love and be safe."

I bit my lip, staying quiet. This was disconcerting. Vilkas lifted his hand as if he wanted to touch me, but then let it fall back to his side.

"It was beautiful, Qhourian. You needed each other so much – because of me. I don't know much about that time... not much more than agony and Hircine's terror. But this is something I'll never forget. Without this, I would have never given you the ring." He swallowed, and now his voice was barely more than a whisper. "And later... much later, when I saw you again and you forced me to deal with you... I thought that this was the only way how a woman like you should be fucked against a wall."

I passed him, my gaze directed towards the ground, and he followed without a further word. This was worse than awkward. He was brutal in his open honesty, knowing exactly how much it could hurt. He knew so much about me – too much, so many things that had formed me, that were deeply personal and intimate – and he could use all this so easily against me. Only to know what he knew made me feel at his mercy.

So far, we had been careful with each other, but with his insistent questioning and this revelation he had broken this cautiousness. He didn't have the right to look through me like that. I didn't know him good enough. I didn't trust him enough.

But he forced me to trust him. And at the same time, in the same breath, he answered questions I would have never dared to ask, bared himself to me, showed me his own vulnerability and insecurity.

We made our way through the building in silence, didn't separate again, and at one point, after we ran into an ambush of Falmer waiting behind an open door, he took the lead once more. We worked flawlessly together and pressed forwards and upwards, cleared two more floors and searched them thoroughly until we could go no further. We had found nothing, and I turned immediately back and towards the stairs downwards. When I missed his steps behind me, I spun around.

"What is it? Get going!"

He leant against a stone table, his arms crossed in front of his chest. "I'm still curious," he said with an infuriating smirk.

"No... more... questions!" My index pointed accusingly at him. "What happens between Farkas and me is _not your business!_ You have no idea what we've been through, and you've no right to intrude. You will leave us alone!"

His grin faded. "I know. What you have... I should have trusted him right from the beginning. He was always better with people."

"Only Alduin is worse with people than you," I snapped.

"But I want to learn, and he doesn't." His lips quirked again. What in Oblivion was so funny? "This is not about Farkas, Qhourian." He made a step towards me. "I misjudged you. I still do, sometimes. You have given me this chance... and I don't get why. The least I can do is try to understand. Do you justice."

"I think you know more than enough about me. More than you're entitled to. You're just searching for new labels you can pick on me."

"Labels don't do you justice."

He tried to force me to open up to him, he gave a shit about my sensitivities, and I didn't know why. My instinct told me that his motives could only be sinister, but my experience with him told me otherwise. He had proven himself, was open and honest. Perhaps it was his way, that he took the right for himself to be so intrusive. But I didn't know him good enough, and it was too much and too fast.

I shook my head and left the room, and now I heard his steps behind me.

His hand on my shoulder was firm and heavy. "You're curious too. And you have many labels for me as well." Yes, I had. Sadist, rapist, ass. Companion, Master-of-Arms. My nemesis, the thorn in my side. A pitiful creature. A predator, dangerous and vulnerable. Pack-brother, shield-brother, brother-in-law.

They didn't fit together. And he was right – I was curious about him.

I tugged nervously at my braid. "Why do you want to know about this, Vilkas?"

His smile was open and gentle. "I think I should start at the beginning."

I regarded him pensively. This whole conversation was awkward, but he didn't back off – and I could feel that he didn't want to hurt me. Perhaps he really wanted to understand. But he had opened up to me, in a weird way... as if he knew how easily this openness could lead to new injuries but didn't care, because it couldn't be worse than what we had already gone through.

"Stray-blond. And now we should really get going," I said with a small smile.

"Straw-blond? That must have been pretty."

His confusion when I poked him in the chest was nearly adorable. "Not straw-blond. No silken tresses shining like sunrays. No little princess. Stray-blond. Something between dirty sand and muddy brown. Like Snowback's belly and cropped so short," I balled my hand to a fist with only the pinky stretched out, "because once I nearly scalped myself, when my braid got stuck while the rest of me jumped off a tree." I grinned at him. "My sister's reached down to her butt, though."

He swatted my finger playfully away and barked out a laughter. A rich sound, full of relief and mirth. "You mean... you climbed on trees? You might possibly even have become dirty?"

"Yep. Horrible, isn't it? If Talos were just a dead man, he'd rotate in his grave now. I was too tall for my age, and wild and clumsy and always full of bruises. It was so bad that my mother learned to ignore anything less than infected wounds and broken bones."

He strapped his sword to his back, but his smirk was lighthearted. "You're not clumsy any more. Still a bit tall for your age, though."

I bit my lip. His lighthearted words woke a memory that hurt. He frowned when he saw my expression and stopped to adjust the straps of his pack.

"What is it?"

I recalled how I crouched on the ground of the training ground after my first sword training, beaten into submission by him and his malice. "Once you called me incompetent, too weak and too slow."

His face closed down. Seemed he knew exactly what I meant. "But you were."

"You were an ass back then, Vilkas."

He didn't avoid my gaze. "I know," he said calmly. "I wanted to see you where I left you, crying on the ground."

"You tried to break me."

"Aye. But you didn't."

"I was close. But your brother was there and gave me his strength."

He bit his lip. "I'm glad that he did."

I believed him, because he didn't only say it. For a moment, his features became soft and open, and he showed me what he couldn't say out loud.

He was glad that he had failed. And he was glad to be here, with me, exactly where we were now. Down here in the bowels of the earth and at this point in our relationship. We had built something to build upon over the last weeks. A foundation. Perhaps it was still brittle and vulnerable, perhaps I didn't trust it completely, but it was a start. A good start.

"I'm glad too, Vilkas."

His smile was soft and genuine. "Come on. There's one more tower waiting for us."

But this tower was empty as well, and my frustration boiled over when we left the uppermost chamber of the whole complex after what felt like another eternity of fighting and searching. I leant against the balustrade of the small balcony that went around the slender building, the golden orb hanging directly above me, and fought down tears of anger and disappointment. This had been obviously the centre of the whole kingdom, we had even found something that resembled a throne room. And still none of these buildings was the Tower of Mzark. Either that, or the scroll was simply not here.

"Qhourian?" Vilkas called from the other side of the building.

"Leave me alone." My frustrated grunt let him come over.

"I think I…"

"Gods Vilkas, leave me alone! Just a few minutes, is that too much to ask?"

He backed away with a frown, hands raised in apology, and I drowned for a moment in my chagrin, my forehead leant against the cool metal of a slender pillar. I felt sick and tired and discouraged, and I wanted to scream my ire over this blasted city, but I restrained myself. Not gonna accidentally wake another dragon.

I was on the verge of losing hope we'd ever find that blasted scroll, of believing that everything had been in vain. That it simply wasn't here, that Septimus Signus had been wrong. That guy was a complete lunatic, after all. To take his babble at face value had been madness right from the start.

But I couldn't give up. Not now, not after we'd come so far. I would not leave this godsforsaken cave before I had turned every single pebble upside down. We'd find another exit to the surface to take another short break, and then I would go on. Holy Kyne, how I longed for the open sky above me, for real daylight instead of this eerie glow and the real darkness of the night instead of these artificial shadows.

I forced myself to calm down, banned the thoughts of failure and unfulfillable wishes deep into the farthest corner of my mind before I went over to Vilkas. I wouldn't reveal my weakness to him. He stood at the opposite side of the building, both hands propped on the iron bar of the handrail and stared into the landscape, but he turned when he heard my steps.

The frown was gone, and he smiled, excited and genuine as he pointed at something in the distance.

"Look over there," he said, "see that? If that isn't a tower, I've never seen one."

* * *

More deserted streets, more mushroom lamps, more ramps and stairs, walls and gates… I couldn't bear them any more, but at least the aimless wandering had come to an end for now, and we had a real goal – this huge, slender needle of stone and metal that leant against the cave wall, lean and towering above everything else. And of course in the friggin' farthest corner of Blackreach, as I had predicted right at the beginning.

We went side by side, openly along the cobbled street because it seemed to be the most direct connection to the tower, took out the occasional ambush of Falmer or automatons with practised ease. This new hope, the justified prospect that it would really be over soon revived my spirits remarkably.

Vilkas shot me an astonished look when I nudged him lightly into the side.

"Sorry," I said, but his sole reaction was a quizzically raised eyebrow.

"For yelling at you. It's not your fault that I'm such a wreck."

"It's not yours either. It's okay, Qhouri."

He never called me Qhouri. "It's just… gods, how I hate this place!"

"I said it's okay. It'll be over soon anyway." He gave me an odd smile. A warm smile.

"Don't get all soft on me suddenly," I chuckled, "it doesn't suit you."

The corners of his mouth twitched. "I know, you know?"

"You know what?"

The grin became a smirk. "I may be just a man, but I'm not stupid."

I stopped, my eyes narrowing. A shiver ran down my spine. "What in Oblivion are you talking about?"

My tone and expression must have made him suspicious, the way the amusement slowly left his eyes. His voice was low when he answered.

"That you're pregnant, of course."

I stopped dead. "I'm not…!" The response, nearly yelled, died in my throat.

He watched me blanch and sway when his words hit, watched my hands spread protectively over my belly when a wave of nausea let me break out in cold sweat. And he was there, his hands firm on my upper arms when my knees gave way under me.

He had just spoken out loud what I had pushed away for weeks now, what I didn't even want to acknowledge to myself so far. I had put the blame on the beastblood. On the stress, the injuries and poisonings, the lack of sunlight, sleep and proper food, the Thu'um and the constant emotional turmoil I was in. And now he had said what I didn't want to be true, so casually, so certain.

He knelt before me after he had let me sit down on a boulder, his features changing from confusion into a concerned frown as he searched my face.

"How?" My voice was weak, but I needed this confirmation. From him, of all people.

"You aren't sure yourself?" I shook my head without looking at him, but it was a lie. Deep inside, I was sure. I just didn't want to think about it. I didn't dare to acknowledge the fact.

"Divines. And I thought… it's so obvious!" His hands raked through his hair.

"See… I've watched you. You're tired all the time although you sleep enough. You're always sick, worse in the morning, and when you eat at all you've difficulties to keep it down. And…I guess it must have been about six weeks since you came to Skyhaven Temple. Perhaps seven. You haven't bled once in all this time." His grin was weak, and he blushed slightly. "Sorry, but that's something you girls can't hide. That smell is… distinctive."

This was Vilkas. He made his observations and drew his conclusions, impersonal, rational and objective. He had watched me and concluded that I was with child.

A simple fact. And probably correct.

I curled into a ball, my hands clamped around my shins, forehead dropped onto my knees and shivering violently. But when I felt a hand on my shoulder, I jerked back and shook him off.

I felt empty, empty and numb. I knew I should feel differently… somehow. Happy, perhaps, or excited, but there was nothing. Just a reaction of my body, and the desperate longing to go home, home to my husband. Home where I could share it with him. He would tell me what to do now. I needed his help, his support, his faith into a future that was worth to bring children into. Because I wasn't ready for this. The world wasn't ready for more children.

When I stood up with a stonen face and resumed my way towards the tower lingering in the distance, Vilkas looked at me as if I were a ghost, but he followed without a further word. Only when two Falmer warriors came running and screeching from the side of the street, he stormed ahead and took them out before I could even draw my bow.

"Enough," he growled, ripping his blade from the corpse, "leave us alone!"


	10. A Job Well Done

Once more we had to make camp, the last time until we'd reach the mysterious tower. But when I told Vilkas to go to sleep and that I'd take the first watch, he shook his head.

"Gonna keep you company for a while."

I didn't want his company. I wanted this night to be over, I wanted to get out of here, and most of all did I want to shut down my own brain, stop the mad maelstrom inside the hollowness of my skull. Vilkas was no help with any of this.

A kingdom for a bottle of mead. Or three. Or many.

"You won't tell no one, Vilkas."

He sat across from me, the sharp sound of his whetstone scratching over the metal of his sword screeching in my ears. Now he looked up from his work with a small grin. He really found this amusing.

"You can't hide it for long anyway. Especially not if you're with twins… and chances are high that you are."

"Why are you such an ass? You think this is funny?" My voice was shrill.

"Funny? No. But it's also not as horrible as you seem to think."

I shut him down. "You've no idea what you're talking about."

He put his sword to the side and leant forward with his elbows on his knees, as if he wanted to crawl into my mind.

"Qhouri…," he sighed, "I know I'm not entitled to give you advice, and perhaps I should just shut up and leave you alone, but for once I won't. I'm gonna be the uncle of this child, I've a right to have at least an opinion. And no one else is here." He laid a finger over his lips when I wanted to interrupt him.

"You, girl, are a healthy young woman with a loving husband who has already passed the test that he's a fabulous father. You know as good as I that he'll explode with joy when he gets the news. And you have a bunch of people around you who will completely freak out over your whelp. Or whelps. From Kodlak to Tilma, all of them. Especially Tilma."

"But…"

"No but! Yes, there's still this little Alduin problem. Gods, I've lived with Esbern under one roof, I know probably more about this bloody prophecy than you! So what? You expect the world to stop spinning until you've done your job? It won't, Qhourian… people bring children into the world all the time, despite the dragons and despite the war. If they can do it, you can as well."

"Yes, but they're not the ones who have to stop him."

"No, they're not. But does it really make a difference if you have to expect to be killed by Alduin himself or by one of his brethren? Or by a rampaging soldier patrol, a gang of bandits or a rabid sabrecat? Life's dangerous, you're a Companion, you should know best. The only difference between you and us is if you fail, then the game's over for all of us. Then it really doesn't matter any more. But if you really think that's an option, you can just as well give up _right now_."

A lecture from Vilkas. Exactly what I needed. I groaned and hid my face in my palms.

But perhaps it was indeed exactly what I needed, if only to give me the time to calm down. Absentmindedly I realised that he had lost his ability to rile me up with every word he said. Instead I listened to him, and believed that he meant what he said.

"A few months ago you would've talked differently. You would've cursed me for being reckless and irresponsible, for forsaking my duties and for ruining your brother's life."

He didn't appreciate the reminder. "My priorities have changed," he said curtly.

I buried my hands in my hair. "Farkas and I… the night before we left Morthal… we've spoken about this. About having a family." It felt as if that night had been an eternity ago. I missed him so much that it clenched my chest. "Some day. When all this is over."

I remembered Farkas' expression when I had asked him this stupid question. I had been jealous… jealous of this part of his life I knew I couldn't share. Of the happiness that beamed from him when he was with his girls. I was jealous… and selfish, because I knew what he wanted, and I coaxed the confirmation from him that he wouldn't exclude me.

And now I was selfish again. I knew that Vilkas was right and that he'd be happy. Despite all difficulties and doubts, despite Alduin and the uncertainties regarding our future, he would be unconditionally happy. And I wanted nothing more than to give him this happiness.

Just to think of the hope in his eyes, of his joyous smile and his amazement when he answered my question let my stomach flutter. Perhaps I wasn't ready to be a mother. But I wasn't alone, I had the best father of the world by my side to learn from.

"Well, seems like you screwed up your schedule."

Vilkas muttered his remark with his usual deadpan expression, and it tipped me over the edge. As if anything in my life had ever gone according to a schedule. I stared at him, into these piercing light eyes, so awfully familiar and with none of the malice I still expected to find in them, and the chaos of emotions, all the fears and doubts, hope, anticipation and joy suddenly changed completely, needed and found a release. Or perhaps… it was just the mood-swing of a mother-to-be, but I started to giggle. A giggle that soon turned into a laughter that coloured my face in a bright red and let my eyes water, that let me slump over helplessly and made my sides burn with lack of air.

"Screwed up our schedule," I sobbed and panted, bent over, gasping frantically for breath, "gods, you're such an ass!" and his thinlipped scowl only made me laugh harder until he couldn't help it any more and his lips curled up in an amused grin.

"I've no idea what's so funny," he said with a chortle, watching me curiously, "but I'll take that as a compliment." As if he couldn't believe my outbreak of cheerfulness. I couldn't believe it myself.

"Do that, Vilkas. Do that." I forced myself to calm down. "And thank you. Gods, I needed that." I gave him a broad, genuine, relaxed grin. Nothing had changed, but I felt as if a mountain was lifted from my shoulders. The smirk on Vilkas' face proved that my change of mood rubbed off on him.

"You're welcome," he grinned cheekily, "though… you know what? I don't know about my brother… no, that's wrong, I _do_ know about my brother, and that's exactly the problem, but I would have thought that you're at least a bit more… careful. If you already have a schedule. I mean, there are potions for that, after all."

A new wave of giggles overwhelmed me. "Uncle or not, that's really not your business any more." I couldn't believe it. I sat here and discussed the most intimate details of my life with the man I hated most in the world. Only that he wasn't that man any more, and I wasn't the same woman either. He had made me laugh, even if it was only by accident, and I was tired of being cautious with him, tired of being wary and holding myself in check. He was just my brother-in-law, the one person who knew my husband at least as good as I. Uncle Vilkas. "I've just a guess anyway. Of course I've taken those potions Arcadia hides under her counter."

"Together with the stallion pots, I know," Vilkas threw in with a snicker.

"What?"

"Stallion pots. You didn't know about them? Beefed up stamina potions... something like the antidote to the stuff you took."

"Holy Daedra, no! Don't think…"

I bit my tongue and felt my cheeks grow hot. Of course I knew them, they were just called differently in Cheydinhal. Bull's brew, for example. But this went too far, I wouldn't discuss Farkas' stamina with his brother. His smug grin showed that he knew exactly what I wanted to say, but he was smart enough to refrain from a remark.

I took a deep breath. "Believe me, I've been thorough with them. But I think… well, my guess is they don't work when I've changed. I think... well, they make that something in my body doesn't work as usual. In a way, they're like poison, and I guess the wolf neutralises them. It must have happened after I took the blood."

He tilted his head, contemplating my answer. "Yeah, that's possible," he said finally. "Aela never had this problem."

"No. _She_ would have warned me. And of course none of you guys thought so far." I gave him a cheeky grin. "But if you ever woo a werewolf girl, you should keep this in mind."

Now I had made him blush, and deeply so. Served him right for his curiosity. He stood up with red ears and a grunt and retreated into his bedroll, lying down with his back to me. "Don't forget to wake me in a few hours."

* * *

"How does this work, for Daedra's sake?"

I kicked the innocently blinking control panel furiously when the damned construction in front of us swung back into its original position _again_. This thing made fun of me. It were only lousy four buttons I had to light up and press in the correct order. Only that the correct order was a different one every time I tried.

And Vilkas stood behind me, leant relaxed against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, his smirk… no, it wasn't condescending. Just amused. But I would have liked to kick him as well.

I never imagined that one day Vilkas' good mood would strain my nerves. But now he was downright cheerful, and had been since he woke me for the hopefully last stage of our journey.

We had finally found the Tower Mzark, an endless bridge leading over a foaming abyss of water and rocks towards its entrance. When I pushed the huge golden double doors open, I relished in a feeling of triumph, as if the Scroll was just a single step away.

It was premature, this feeling. Of course, it was never so easy. But I knew exactly that we had in fact reached the end of our search when I found the slot for Septimus' cubic lexicon right beside the panels.

The lower part of the tower was filled with a gigantic sphere, metal with an inlay of gems, that blocked our view when we opened the door from the antechamber. Only a narrow ramp led past it and upwards, until we could either step on the arched surface of the sphere's uppermost part or follow the ramp to a higher platform, where we stood now.

From here, we had a marvellous sight upon the construction that filled the huge circular dome, an intricate web of metal bars, lattices and several blue and green crystals tugged under its ceiling. The whole contraption, the whole room seemed to come to life when we approached, the crystals suddenly releasing a soft, turquoise light that was accompanied by the low hum of active machinery. And on top of the ramp, we found the control panels to move the whole construction.

Four identical buttons on pedestals stood in front of me, two of them lit, in the middle a glass display panel that showed something completely incomprehensible – perhaps a celestial map, perhaps the correct alignment of the gems hidden in the metal chaos above our heads, perhaps just the spawn of a mad mind.

With a lot of trial and error I had figured out that when I pressed certain buttons, either other buttons lit up or the whole metalwork started to move, the bars swinging low and wide and unfolding towards the platform below them. But never at the same time. Either… or, and no matter what I did, the whole thing folded itself neatly back into its original position over and over again. It was driving me crazy. On purpose.

When a finger tipped on my shoulder, I stepped back deliberately and heavily on Vilkas' toes. Curse these steel-plated boots, he didn't even feel it.

"Let me try," he murmured, already bent over the lights and buttons. "There must be a system behind it. We just gotta find it."

He studied the display, then pressed a button, and nothing happened. He pressed it again, nothing happened again, but he completely ignored my slightly hysterical, gloating giggle. Then he pressed another button, and with a swoosh the bars started to swing and rotate. And the next button lit up. My gasp caused his lips to curl up mischievously.

"You're just lucky," I grunted.

He studied the display, compared it with the position of the crystals before us. "Let's see…," he drawled, his brows furrowed in concentration before an index slowly came down onto another button.

Swoosh, and the whole construction was back at the beginning. Vilkas' mouth pressed into a thin, stubborn line. "Keep that grin to yourself," he growled over his shoulder, and I bit on my cheek to suppress at least the audible signs of my amusement.

"Hey, you were better than I. Do that again. What you did at the beginning."

He brought the metalwork back into the first position, and this time I chose the next button. Nothing happened. Nothing happening was still better than a swoosh in the wrong direction. Now we leant both over the panels, but while I pointed to the last button that had lit up, he chose the only dark one.

He was faster than me, and he chose wrong. We were back at the start, and he let out an annoyed huff and started over, then he pushed the button I had chosen.

I held my breath and exhaled audibly when the tangle above our heads started to move in a complicated dance until the crystals finally lined themselves up with their counterparts in the floor. Bright rays of light appeared between the upper and the lower part of the machinery.

I looked at Vilkas with a broad smile, but he just stepped back and reached into his pack, retrieving a slim stick of charcoal and a piece of parchment. Hurriedly he wrote down the sequence we had revealed so far.

"Clever," I laughed, and he gave me a lopsided smirk.

"We're not finished yet. Now you can reset the thing as often as you want."

"Smartass," I snickered, "you mean like this?" I reached out and pressed the first button my finger reached, holding his amused gaze.

There was no swoosh this time. Just a highpitched whistle, a barely audible sound that hurt in my ears, and Vilkas' growing eyes that made me turn. The colourful lenses swung back, the rays vanished, but from the top descended the last part of the puzzle, a metal ring containing an egg-shaped receptacle, shimmering in the same light as the lenses lined up around it. When nothing moved any more and it had become absolutely quiet, it opened with a whizz and released a piece of parchment, rolled up onto a finely lathed wooden rod.

"That's it," I whispered, my throat suddenly constricted. There it was, the fragment of a timeless eternity we had searched for so long and that would send me back in history – or into insanity. I swallowed heavily.

It looked so harmless.

Vilkas stood behind me, his hands coming down on my shoulders… firm and calming.

"Go and get it," he said, giving me a gentle push towards the ramp. I stumbled down to the floor, over the glowing crystals and through the metal bars that seemed to quiver around me, and took the scroll from the box. It felt light in my hands, much lighter than it should be. Vilkas snatched the lexicon from its slot and came down from the controls until he stood before me, his face again closed and unreadable. I presented him the scroll with outstretched arms.

"Keep it for me? Please?"

He nodded slowly, took it from my hands and wrapped it into a piece of cloth before he tucked it carefully away. I felt relief when it was gone… at least for the moment.

"Let's go home, brother," I said, and he gave me a wordless smile, and when I offered him my hand, he took it and let me draw him to the lift that would bring us back to the surface.

* * *

"Do you have any idea where we are?"

"No." Vilkas looked around, his teeth clenched, avoiding my gaze. Startled I searched his face. He lied. He lied to me, and he didn't even try to hide it.

The dome that concealed the exit from the Tower Mzark was located in a small basin, surrounded on all sides by unclimbable rocks, just a small path leading down the mountain and high enough that the snow that covered the ground had lasted over the summer months. And obviously there had been others in this secluded place, although I was sure they didn't come the way we had taken – we found the remains of an old, abandoned camp, the furs of a tent, the frame collapsed under the force of the unrelenting winds up here, a cold fireplace and even some abandoned, rusty and rotten pieces of armour.

The man looked at the sky, obviously relieved that the sun was already on its way towards the western horizon.

"Let's stay here for the night. No need to break our bones by crawling down there in the dark."

He knew he couldn't lie to me, turned away and searched through the remains of the campsite, and he didn't say a word when I dropped my pack and followed the path downwards to see where it led. It was steep, narrow and slippery, turning north first before curving around a huge protruding boulder. But as soon as I came around the ledge and the view towards the south opened up to my marvelling gaze, I stopped with a gasp. Below me rolled the plains of Whiterun to the horizon, already covered in shadows but still so beautiful in their autumnal colours. And in the distance, the wooden pediments lit by the rays of the setting sun as if they were on fire, loomed the familiar silhouette of Dragonsreach. Home.

"You ass," I spat when I slung my pack on my back again and draped a fur over my shoulders. The wind was icy, and we were used to the humid warmth of Blackreach. "Do what you want, but I'm going home."

Gods, I was ill with homesickness, and he deliberately tried to keep me away? I'd march through the night if I had to, now that I knew how close we were.

I was barely out of sight when I heard his steps behind me.

"Wait," he called after me, resignation in his voice, "you can't climb down there in the darkness."

I pointed at the horizon. "It won't be dark for at least another hour. Don't try to stop me!"

He gritted his teeth, but he pushed past me and took the lead on the steep, treacherous path. Such a gentleman, all of a sudden. I snorted into his back.

"What was that for, for Ysmir's sake?"

He just raised his hands, didn't deign me with an answer. Only when we reached the end of the climb, the mountainside turning into the gentle hills of Whiterun's plains and we were able to walk side by side again, he suddenly stopped.

"Qhourian." I looked over my shoulder, hoping he would hurry up. Gods, we were so close.

But he stood in the near darkness and didn't move, shadows concealing his expression.

"Vilkas?"

"I can't go with you." His voice was rough.

"Why not?" I spun around and made an impatient gesture towards the city. "I wanna go home. Please."

He stretched out his hand. "Loreius' Farm is over there. You just have to follow the road." The silhouette of the windmill stood clearly out against the sky.

Only now the meaning of what he was saying sunk in. My thoughts were already in Whiterun, the surprise to get out of Blackreach so close to home flaring up in anticipation and happiness.

But he didn't want to come with me, and he didn't try to hold me back either. This was a farewell.

_I want a home again. I don't know if I'm gonna get it, but I have to start somewhere. I have to start with you, and I need your help._

He had started with me, and he had proven himself. Many small steps, many of which we had made together. But this journey had to come to an end, we both knew it, and I had never longed more for anything than to get out of Blackreach.

We had never spoken about the afterwards. I had never thought about it, just assumed he'd be as happy as I to get this done as fast as possible.

But that wasn't the case. He wasn't happy that it was over, because he had nowhere to go now. I had forgotten that Whiterun – and Jorrvaskr – wasn't his home any more.

"I thought you want to return," I said weakly.

He didn't answer, just stood there, and I felt his gaze in my back as mine was glued to the silhouette in the distance, fighting with myself. It pulled me in with a promise of rest, safety and recreation. Farkas was there, waiting for me. And he was a grown man and had to make his own decisions. I couldn't force him. I didn't even want to force him.

But the Vilkas I left behind was lost, lonely and scared. I couldn't leave him here, so close to home and still so far away, although I didn't understand what bothered him. I tore my eyes from Dragonsreach and turned back towards the steep path we had descended. He looked as if he wanted to dash it up again and vanish back into Blackreach.

"What's the matter, Vilkas?"

"I held my promise. You're safe, and you got your scroll. That's all that matters, doesn't it?" His lips were pressed into a thin, stubborn line, and he avoided my eyes.

"You're stupid. Even more stupid than I." I sighed. "If that was all that mattered, I would have gone with Athis. I thought… didn't we have a good time, down there?" I pointed at my feet. "I mean… we didn't kill each other. Why can't we finish the job now together?"

Vilkas stood rigid and stiff, but I could literally smell his insecurity and the turmoil that raged in him. The effort it took him to keep his composure.

"Yes, we had a good time, and that's exactly the problem." His voice was strained and low, but then it broke out of him. "That's what you would like, don't you? That I return at your mercy, dependent on you?"

"My… mercy? Are you crazy?"

"Yes, your mercy, _sister_," he growled, taking a step back. "Have you forgotten what happened? I _raped_ you. I sent you through hell, and with you my brother and all of them. I have no right to return, and if I could, it would be only because you speak for me. We both know that I'm in your debt, too deep to have ever a chance to pay it back. Perhaps you need this, perhaps you need it to feel safe from me… I don't know. But I'm at your mercy. Always have been, always will be."

I felt I should get angry, furious, yell at him for being such a damned egoistic coward. But I didn't. All traces of pride, anger and alertness had left his posture. He just looked… frail. And stubborn. And desperate.

I laughed lowly, and he raised his head, taken aback by the sound.

"You're such a fool." I shook my head, turned on my heels and sat down on a narrow boulder. Whiterun still lured from the distance, but this was something we had to clear up first. We could just as well make ourselves comfortable.

I looked up to him as he kept standing with his pack at his feet, shoulders bunched up and his gaze lowered to the ground.

"You know, Vilkas… one day, when you're sitting with Farkas in the Mare and you're drunk enough to talk instead just to boast… ask him what happened when he proposed to me, the morning after he came back from his vacation with you. Ask him how incredibly stupid I was when I rejected him. Ask him how furious he was and what he yelled at me about debts and businesses. Yes, there were flowers involved, but it was probably the least romantic proposal in the history of Skyrim. And we Nords aren't exactly famous for romance."

"Why don't _you_ tell me?" His voice was low.

"I'll never be drunk enough for that." At least he dared to look into my face now. "See… there's someone waiting for me – for us both – to whom I'm indebted to. Deeply, with no chance to pay it back. And you know what? It doesn't matter. Your brother has taught me to take what he had to give… and at the same time he has taught me to give, because he is able to take without fear. Stop being afraid, Vilkas."

He straightened himself. "I'm not my brother, Qhourian. Never will be. Sorry to disappoint… again."

"Now you really wanna annoy me. Of course you're not. The gods forbid!" My eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you really want? You want me to beg? Forget it, I won't."

A trace of a grin appeared on his face, but it was gone again as soon as it flared up.

"No," he said, "you'll never beg, I know." Suddenly he was before me, kneeling to be on eyelevel. His fingers came up, traced the scars on my face, the other hand took mine and laid it onto the collar of his armour.

"Why, Qhourian? We had a good time, and you're not afraid. Tell me why you've gone through all this with me."

I swallowed heavily, felt the blood rush to my head under the touch of his fingers.

Perhaps it was time.

"I don't need this to feel safe from you. I feel safe from you because I know you won't do it again… and because I'd shred you to pieces if you tried, and you know it."

"That's true, but no answer to my question."

I gave him a crooked grin. "Because I wanna get rid of you."

He removed his hand from my face and let it fall on his knee. "What?"

"We're all our own masters, Vilkas. Yes, I've gone through hell, but so have you. And now it's over, we had a good time, and I want to go on. I have to go on, I need my strength for more important things, and I really don't want to be responsible for you any more. I don't have the right to tell you what you can do and what not. It's high time that you take your life into your own hands again."

"But you've every right…"

"No, I don't! I'm not alone in this world, and you aren't either. I've never been alone during the last year, not even when I thought I was. We all rely on others… so what? I'm at the mercy of so many people… yeah, so what? Stop being such an egomaniac!" I glared at him. "You said you want a home again, and you didn't mean Skyhaven. You will have to make your own steps to get it."

"Skjor would still be alive without me," he said lowly.

"The Silver Hand killed him. And honestly, I feel insulted that you're more afraid of Aela than you were of me."

"I underestimated you."

"That's a mistake you make far too often. Perhaps you underestimate her too. You will have to find out yourself." I looked sternly at him. "We need you in Jorrvaskr. We're spread too thin, and Ria and Torvar need desperately someone who gets their training straight. Kodlak needs you, he barely made it through last winter, and the next isn't far. And Farkas… he needs you most of all."

"You did all this for others?"

I scowled at him. "What do you wanna hear? I want peace in Jorrvaskr, and I need you there for the sake of the people I love. It's as good a reason as any." His piercing, unsettling glare didn't falter. It was time to stop being cautious. "Don't press me, Vilkas. Once you invited me to the Companions, and I trusted you although you drove me insane. I want to trust you again… but I can't, not as long as you don't trust yourself."

His face became soft, became open, vulnerable and incredibly tired, but he didn't turn away for some endless moments. I felt uncomfortable under his silent scrutiny and stood up, breaking the contact. "I'm going home now."

He sighed, rubbing his palm over his face, and when he finally rose and slung his pack over his shoulder, I was certain I had ultimately chased him away. I stretched out a hand. "Give me the scroll, please. Don't wanna chase it over all of Skyrim again," I said wearily.

But he shook his head, adjusted the weight and made a few steps towards the city. "Let me take you home," he said, giving me a tentative smile over his shoulder. "I've a feeling I'm not the one you wanna spend this night with."

* * *

"Welcome back, Companions," the guard greeted us with a friendly nod as he opened the gate for us. These guys were never surprised when we came back to the city at the ungodliest hours, and they barely gave us a second look. The casualness of the greeting seemed to ease the nervousness in Vilkas, at least a bit.

Once inside I looked around, curious and incredibly relieved. Nothing had changed, the torch mounted on the pillar in front of the Warmaiden smithy spreading flickering light, ready to greet Adrianne who often started her workshift long before sunrise. The faint sounds of voices and of the Mare's door clapping in the distance made me smile. The patrolling guards wore warm cloaks over their armours, it was cold, the scent of morning frost in the air. Fall was nearly over, we'd been away for so long.

And in the window of the small house next to the smithy shone a tiny lamplight, inviting and homey.

Vilkas returned my happy smile when I turned to him in front of the door, laying a finger to my lips. But when I had finally fumbled the key into the lock and we entered, I couldn't suppress my own gasp. When I had bought the house it had been empty, blank floorboards, a creaking stair, blind windows, vacant rooms, and I could only afford the most basic furniture.

Now, everything had changed. This wasn't just a house any more… it was a home, beautiful and cosy in its exotic furnishing, a vivid mix of Dunmeri and Nordic style. The chairs at the fire were coated with the plaids in dark red and various shades of brown we had bought in Windhelm. There was a large table with a bronze candle-holder on top and a dark red carpet below it that extended over the stairs up to the second floor, some sideboards to prepare meals on them and with plenty of room for food and drinks, and lots of shelves mounted to the walls, filled with our new tableware, the blue glass shining in the dim light.

And it was obviously occupied. To see Farkas' cloak hanging on a hook, his boots standing below it and an empty bottle of ale on the table let me swallow.

I caught Vilkas watching me with a small, pensive smile when I beckoned him to follow me. I touched his shoulder briefly. "I'll show you to your room, okay?"

He nodded and started to unstrap his boots, but when I had showed him the door to the little free chamber, he held me back. "I'll have breakfast ready when you get up," he said lowly. "Sleep well, sister."

Farkas was sound asleep when I closed the door to our bedroom behind me, our coming hadn't disturbed him. I leant against the door and just watched him for a moment in the dim light of the fireplace, curled into a ball, one hand hanging over the edge of the bed, the other resting flat under his cheek. He dreamt, lips twitching, mumbling some incoherent words, and still his face looked so innocent and peaceful. To see him like that, here in our home, to know that he lit that little lamp every evening trusting that one day I'd come back and see it… I held my breath, my throat constricted with unshed tears of love and relief.

He stirred when I crawled under the blankets and cuddled against his back, when I inhaled his scent and slung my arm around his waist, and finally he turned around, faced me with fluttering eyelids and pulled me against his body, my head coming to rest in the crook of his neck. Only then did he seem to realise what he was doing, and his eyes shot open.

"…Qhouri…" Wonder was written into his face.

"I'm here." My fingers trailed over his face. "Sleep, dear."

"I love you," he murmured, his eyes already closing again, but his lips curled into a happy smile, and he pulled me closer.

I woke to the feeling of a hand stroking my hair, a heavy arm around me, my body nestled into his warmth, skin against skin. For an endless moment, we only looked at each other, our faces only inches apart. I felt his breath on my face and breathed him in, studied his expression full of wonder and calm and happiness. While he gave me time to wake and just held me close, fingertips stroking up and down my spine, everything else fell away, stress and tensions I hadn't shaken off for weeks. Relief settled heavy and warm in my limbs. I was home.

"I thought you were a dream," he mumbled finally.

I inched closer to him, he pulled me in and bowed his head, and when his lips closed over mine I drowned in a wave of emotions, tenderness, relief, need and bliss, and I wasn't sure if it were his or mine. It was a nearly chaste kiss, unhurried and soft, and it could have lasted forever, each in the other's arms.

His skin was hot under my fingers, I felt the need for him gather in my belly with gentle warmth and his arousal rest heavy against my hip as he stroked the sleepiness from my body. But there was no urgency in the movements of his palms over my skin, exploring and reassuring. I buried my hands in his hair and my face against his neck. We had all the time in the world. The world wouldn't dare to disturb us now. We barely moved, careful not to break the contact.

But I had to chuckle when I realised what he was doing with his soft caresses. His fingertips lingered at a point at my upper arm where a grazing Falmer arrow had first left a scratch and then a tiny scar. Only a small silvery line, but he found it and examined it thoroughly.

"I'm fine, love," I murmured into his ear.

His embrace became even tighter. "Never again," he whispered. "I'll never let you go again for so long."

I wiggled against him. "Missed me?"

He looked at me for a moment, and then he claimed my mouth in a smouldering kiss, his tongue demanding entry, nipping and biting, and I felt my desire flare up, the blazing need to touch, feel and taste him. A low groan came from his throat.

I tugged at his hair. "I need you," and he curled around me, caged me with his body like a treasure, and our caresses became firmer, more intimate and purposeful, their familiarity setting body and mind ablaze.

"I have so many questions." We lay tangled into each other, savouring the warmth and closeness. My skin still burned with the heat between us, the afterglow of our lovemaking dwelling, lingering, kept alive by his soft touches.

"And I have so many news." I had to smile. I knew when I told him the most important news of all, all questions would be forgotten. "But you first."

"How did you do? Vilkas and you?"

"We got along. Not always easily, but… yes, we got along. He's here now."

His face became pensive. "Yeah, I heard him earlier… he really wants to return? To Jorrvaskr?"

"He's homesick and scared, that at least I know for sure. Have you… is it possible? What will the others say?"

He groaned. "I don't know. When I told them that you're in Blackreach together and that he'll perhaps come home with you, they were shocked."

"Shocked? Why?"

"That you take the risk. That you can bear him. That I let you go with him. Athis was the worst. He said he would kill me if you didn't come home safe, and he was serious." He gave me a look full of warmth. "They worried for you, and let it out on me. You've no idea how happy they will be to see you."

I swallowed. As overwhelming the feeling to be home was... I had to hurry up, and I wanted to go on. I wanted to finish what I had started with the scroll and get over with it. Finish this job once and for all, and then I would return to Jorrvaskr and stay and be nothing but a Companion for the rest of my days.

And his wife, and the mother of his children.

"And? What did you tell them?"

He grinned, albeit a bit insecure. "That you're a big girl. And that I trust you both to find the scroll and come home safe." He swallowed. "But it took so long. I wanted to go to Blackreach and search for you. Every day."

"You would have never found us. It's... incredible. Incredibly huge." Perhaps, one day, we'd make a trip to the Tower of Mzark and I'd show it to him. It wasn't far, after all.

"You did find the scroll, didn't you?"

"Yes." I didn't want to speak about it. Not now. He read my face and let it go. "My turn. How are you doing? With your eye?" I stroked his cheek.

He smiled at me. "Much better. I can see dark and light, things when they move. Like shadows. It's much better in daylight than in dark caves or at night. And you were right, I've adapted. Have even been out on jobs again already."

I sighed with relief. "You've no idea how glad I am to hear that. But I would've killed you if you hadn't been here tonight," I huffed playfully, and he buried me with a growl beneath him.

"I'm no easy prey any more, woman."

"You've always been easy prey for me, love," I whispered and let my fingers trail along his spine, felt out the familiar scars and the relief of his back muscles. "The house is so beautiful. It was wonderful to come home."

"The girls have helped me to arrange everything," he said with a shy smile, his forearms propped on both sides of my head, "and Athis loves it. We even went to Windhelm once more to get some stuff he thought we'd need." He trailed kisses along my neck. "But the idea with the light was mine."

"I love you, husband."

"And I love you, my heart. Any more pressing matters?"

I took a deep breath. "Yes. But not now. I'm so glad to be home, you've no idea. And… I have something to do first. And I'm starving. And then… I need you. You've time to spend the day with me?"

His face became soft, his fingers tracing over my sides. "Not only this day, Qhouri. I've accepted a job for today, but I'll see to shake it off. These weeks were horrible. So long, and not to know where you are and if you're fine... I'm never gonna let you leave me for so long again."

"I never wanna leave you for so long again," I mumbled. "Come here. I'm starving."

* * *

"Vilkas!" Farkas blustered down the stairs and punched the man standing at the cooking pot into the shoulder. "It's good to see you, brother."

His twin blushed when he saw me standing on top of the stairs. "You're up already? I'm not even ready…"

"That smells delicious," I said with a laughter, "but if there's only a trace of venison in it, I'm gonna chase you back to Dawnstar!"

"No venison," he grinned, pointing the wooden spoon at me, "mostly vegetables and a bit of salmon. Hope that's convenient."

Soon we gathered around the table laden with stew, bread, cheese and ham, fruits and sweets. Vilkas had even been to the market and replenished Farkas' sparse supplies. Both men grinned when I wolfed into the food.

"Sorry," Farkas said chewing, "but I've mostly eaten in Jorrvaskr. Not much fun cooking for one alone." He looked around with a happy smile. "Finally there's some life in here."

"Oh," Vilkas said with a smirk, "there will be a lot of life in here," the kick against his shin made him recognise my seething glance, and he stopped for a second, "eh… now that your wife is back."

Thankfully, Farkas was oblivious to our… exchange.

Our meal was lighthearted, eased by our stories. There would be much to tell later when we'd have to give a more detailed report, but a dragon a mile underground or the description of the huge Dwemer city we had explored were an entertaining diversion until we were all sated.

But underneath the recounting of adventures and the leisurely banter, we were all aware of the tension. We all were aware that Vilkas couldn't stay here with us. That he'd have to return to Jorrvaskr… and that none of us knew what awaited him there - beside lots of unpleasant questions.

Until a loud knock at the front door disturbed us.

"Farkas?" a female voice called from outside, muffled through the wood, "are you ready?"

Farkas hit his forehead with his flat hand. "Gods, that's Njada," he groaned, standing up, "I've completely forgotten about her."

He opened the door and drew her inside, ignoring her clueless look. "What's the matter, where's your armour? Why aren't you …"

"So good to see you, Njada!" I interrupted her and pulled her into a hug. Surprise made her go limp for a moment when I appeared behind the broad back that blocked her view, but then she returned the embrace.

"Qhouri!" Her face beamed. "Since when are you…"

Only now she started to look around and found Vilkas still sitting at the table in the back of the room.

Her eyes first grew wide with amazement, then narrowed into a frown. "Vilkas?" I already feared she'd fall victim to her sharp tongue, but she contained herself. Instead she nodded curtly, and he returned the gesture.

"Last night," I said, "we came home last night."

"I'm sorry, Njada," Farkas said, driving sheepishly with his hands through his hair, "we forgot the time. And I wanted to ask anyway… is anyone else available who could take over for me? I'd really…"

"You'd really like to cop out, I get it," she laughed, but then she became serious. "No, the others are all gone." She looked apologising from him to me. "I'm sorry… but we've got to get this done. Those mages have killed another pilgrim."

Farkas turned to me, hard lines forming around his mouth. "The Julianos Shrine, north of Shearpoint. Some mages have occupied it and annoy the pilgrims. As in, kill and enthrall them." He drew me a few steps away and palmed my face, disappointment in his eyes. "I'm sorry, love. I'll come back as fast as possible."

I rested my head against his chest. "I know. Companions duty." I gave him an insecure smile. "Be careful." This wasn't how I had imagined our first day back.

Njada watched us attentively from the door, watched Farkas vanish upstairs to don his armour, my disappointed expression and Vilkas sitting stoically apart.

"Qhouri? Can I have a word with you?"

I turned to her.

"I'm sorry… I'm glad you're back, all safe and sound," she smiled.

"I'm fine, Njada," I said slightly puzzled, "just a bit tired. And we've a lot to discuss. But it can wait." I smiled at her. It wasn't her fault, after all.

"How was your travel?"

"Long and boring," I laughed, "but we're gonna give a detailed report when you're back, okay?"

"That's not what I meant." She grinned sheepishly and paused for a moment, letting her gaze wander through the cosy room and over the opulent remains of our breakfast. She pulled herself together. "Do you think Vilkas would… take over for Farkas? So you have some time for yourself?"

I looked at her in amazement. "That's your decision alone, Njada. And his, of course."

She grinned. "As far as I know, he's never been officially dismissed. High time that he gets his ass going again."

"He has worked hard over the last weeks." I gave her a small, encouraging smile. I thought this was a fabulous idea, but I was biased and didn't want to press her. "But… you don't have to do this just to do us a favour. Not if you feel… uncomfortable with him."

She looked at me, arms crossed resolutely in front of her chest and her head tilted in contemplation. "You did fine with him, didn't you?"

I nodded. "Mostly."

"Guess otherwise he'd be chaurus fodder now." A giggle broke out of her. "I'd feel much more uncomfortable if I robbed you of your _husband_ today, sister. And I don't wanna have him around moping for the next two days anyway, he was already unbearable during the last weeks. Although I hope you know we'll have to have a word about that whole husband thing later."

She turned on her heels and went through the room, snatched an apple from a bowl and bit into it heartily.

"You come back to Jorrvaskr, Vilkas?" she asked boldly, with an impish grin, and she caught him entirely on the wrong foot.

Impressive, that woman.

He was clearly reluctant to answer at all, actually blushed under her scrutinising gaze, his lips pressed into a tight line. I felt the fight and the obstinacy in him, wanted to yell at him to give in, not to let this chance slip away. And finally he nodded. "If I can." He'd have to answer this question more than once over the following days, and those that resulted from it. He would have to endure to be judged, and he knew it.

"Well," she drawled, taking another bite and chewing with relish, "for a start, how about getting back to work? Care to do your brother a favour and hit some necros with me?"

The two warriors locked eyes, a silent battle of wills, eyes unwavering, a small, nearly gentle challenge trying to figure out new intentions and old ties. But Njada was never one to back out when an idea had settled in her head. After all, she regularly brawled her lover to pulp when she felt like it.

And in the end it was Vilkas who broke the contact first, his expression relaxing, and when he stood up, his lips were quirked into a small, relieved smirk.

"If you insist. Give me a second."

When he went upstairs to get his gear and we heard him call for his brother, Njada turned to me with a lighthearted grin. "He's unlearned nothing, has he?"

"No," I snickered, "but he has learned a lot. Thank you, Njada."


	11. Home Again

"What was that for?"

Farkas stood at the foot of the stairs after Vilkas and Njada had left, his face creased into a startled, confused frown. I didn't know myself. When Vilkas came down the stairs, armoured, freshly painted, sword and bow strapped to his back and his face set in determination, I couldn't help but give him a happy smile. He was as exhausted as I after all, had slept only a few hours after our return… and now he left again just to give us some privacy.

His brother got a firm grip to the wrist, and then he stood before me, blue eyes staring down on me, searching my face, locking my gaze into his. He palmed my cheeks just like Farkas had done it only minutes earlier, uncaring for the people around us. Absentmindedly I suddenly realised what made his face so different from his brother's - he lacked the laughlines in the corners of his eyes, those tiny crinkles Farkas had in abundance. But the callouses on his palms felt nearly the same.

"Qhouri…," he whispered, and when his forehead touched mine, there was nothing left. Nothing to prove, no ego, no secrets, no challenges – just openness, bare and raw and sincere. He made use of our bond and forced me to see what he revealed, the acceptance of what had happened and what was still to come, all these confessions and the promises he had made only to himself – and above all this the overwhelming feeling of hope.

"Thank you." So quiet that I wasn't sure he had said anything at all.

He was at peace – with himself and with me. So far, in Blackreach, we had tried to come to terms with each other and our past. To join Njada on this job now was his first step to tackle the future and everything it would throw at him.

After tensing up first, I relaxed with a deep breath into his grip. He never cared how I would deal with his ruthless candour, but now his hands that covered the scars on my cheek were gentle, firm and unrelenting, a naturalness in the way he touched me that was new.

Our scars were the evidence of our history. They would always be there, but they didn't define us any more.

A barely audible sigh came from his lips when I finally pulled away and tugged a streak out of his face. "Be careful, brother," I whispered, my hands on his shoulders. My lips twitched. "And be nice." His eyes tried to hold me, but the lopsided smirk I got was the Vilkas I knew. When he stepped back and opened the door for Njada, I still stood with the feeling of his hands on my face. Until Farkas' words startled me up.

"Qhouri?"

I lowered my head, rubbed the nape of my neck nervously. I didn't know what it was for. It was something between Vilkas and me, and I knew I should share it with him. Only that I didn't know how.

His fingers pressed into my shoulders. "What did he do?"

"I… I don't know. Really." Slowly he let his arms fall to his side, confusion in his face.

"I got to go, love. Visit… someone. Can we go out afterwards? I still got to tell you something… but I need to get out into the sun."

He just nodded as I snatched my cloak from the hook and fled the room.

It was a cold, beautiful day, the sky shining in a bright, clear azure blue, an icy storm with a promise of frost and snow sweeping across the hills. It carried dead leaves and dried soil with it, rattled in the wooden roofs of the watchtowers, made the guards on their post at the gate shiver and bent the tents of the Khajiit traders. Kharjo answered my good-natured greeting with a friendly wave when we crossed their camp as a shortcut to get out into the plains.

I longed for fresh air, the scents of nature and the light of the sun, and didn't care for the curious, amused looks of the guards when I ran over the drawbridge, held my beaming face up to the sky and drew my husband with me.

But he just watched me with a small smile, reluctant to join my high spirits, and when I grabbed his hand he clenched it in his grip, entangled his fingers with mine as if he never wanted to let go again.

It was nearly impossible to carry on a conversation with the storm wiping away the words right in front of our faces and every step a fight against its power, and so we made our way around the Dragonsreach rock in silence, close to each other but without talking, and the involuntary quiet built upon the slight tension we had both felt in the morning, when Vilkas had left.

Only when we came to an abandoned camp at the foot of the cliff directly beneath the palace, we stopped. It was a former bandit hideout, either the guards or the Companions had cleared it out not too long ago, and it provided enough shelter from the storm to make it a good place for a rest. Farkas placed his cloak on the ground for us to sit upon - clothed as he was, in thick woollen tunics and pants and warm boots, he didn't freeze. And he had even brought an additional blanket, together with a snack and a bottle of ale which he unpacked carefully, kneeling between the remains of a splintered table and a broken barrel. Far too carefully. Far too hesitantly.

I had to hunch down beside him and take the bottle from his grip to get him out of his withdrawal, but when he turned to me, his hands clenched in his lap, the cords in his neck were thick and tight.

"What's bothering you, love?" My voice was soft. I had a guess what was wrong, that his imagination was wreaking havoc in him, but I needed him to confirm it. His eyes were dark with confusion and doubt.

He gritted his teeth, but he held my gaze. "Did something happen? Between Vilkas and you?"

"No." The answer was too short to be true, and he knew it. I sagged against him, and then he shifted and turned until I straddled his thighs, chest against chest and face to face. He relaxed slightly when he felt my limbs entwine around his body.

"Tell me. Please," he whispered.

I rested my head against his shoulder, heard his heartbeat pound under my ear. "I'm not sure." He didn't move, waited for me to continue. "We've gone such a long way together, Vilkas and I… yes, something happened. We've come close, in an odd, bizarre way. But I'll never understand him like you do, and..." I gave him a helpless look. I didn't know how to explain something I didn't really understand myself, and I hated that I felt so defensive. "It's not that I _like_ him. He's just... close. It's a bit scary."

"But the way he looks at you… how he looked at you this morning… I know my brother, Qhouri. I know when he... cares for someone. It's rare enough that he does, and even rarer that he admits it. Especially to himself."

"I don't know, love. It's strange, but we had a good time in Blackreach. But now he's also scared and vulnerable, and he's searching… I'm not sure for what, but I don't want to hurt him."

"And you care for him." It was neither question nor accusation, just a statement – and so simple that it was startling.

Did I? Did I _care_ for his brother?

Part of the reason why I was so glad to be back was that I needed a break from Vilkas. Urgently. We didn't try to kill each other any more, but the strange relationship we had developed in Blackreach was at least equally exhausting.

Of course it was in no way comparable to the closeness I shared with his brother, but it was also different from my relationships to all the other Companions. We had formed each other, we shared too much, and we knew too much about each other.

The Vilkas I got to know in Blackreach was still the same man I had known before – full of snark, sarcasm and arrogance, still prone to leash out at the slightest provocation, still someone who never hesitated to deal as much damage as possible against those that evoked his ire. But the picture got new layers during our time together, new perspectives and colours. He had proven that he was a man who was able to care, who could be reliable and protective. A good shield-brother.

But he had also taken the hand I had reached out to him and torn the whole arm from my shoulder. Perhaps he wasn't even aware how intrusive he was. As aloof as he came across himself, he knew no borders of privacy and personal space.

At least not with me, I doubted that he dealt in the same way with Njada. As if he had a right to take part in my life. Perhaps it was because he had no life of his own, because he knew that starting over would be hard and painful and he needed something to hold on to. But it was also his way, this brutal openness he confronted me with and claimed from me in return. He knew me far too good. Once he had used it to hurt me, and now... now he used it to construct an intimacy that could only exist because we had sent each other through Oblivion.

But although he knew much more about me than I was comfortable with, although I often felt pressed and awkward with him, he had never exploited it. This scene in the morning – perhaps he wanted to force me to trust him. But I had felt his yearning and his sincerity, this desperate longing for me to believe him – to believe in him. Because I was the only one who knew all the abysses in him, the darkness, doubts and loathing, perhaps even better than Farkas.

We had already overcome so many points when we could have easily destroyed the other. But we didn't, and in hindsight, that was all that counted. Not guilt, not forgiveness, not revenge or redemption. All this was there too, but most important was that we knew of our vulnerabilities and didn't exploit them.

Our relationship was fragile and brittle, but it was there, built from the ashes of violence, humiliation and betrayal. I wouldn't start to exploit it now.

Was this _caring_? I didn't want to give it a name, but Farkas had done it for me. No one knew us both better than he, and it had only taken him the few hours we had all spent together to come to a conclusion – a conclusion that made him confused and wary.

I wouldn't lie to him, and it was pointless to deny anyway. I gave him a feeble smile and shrugged. "I guess I do, in a pretty weird way. Kyne help me."

It was quiet between us, just my own breath, his heartbeat and the storm howling along the rocks around us audible. I could feel the tension in his back muscles. "Yeah, thought so. He does that to women," he mumbled after long minutes.

I lifted my head. "Farkas?" He stared into the distance, only his fingertips wandered slowly and absently over my back.

"And… you saved him. Can't blame him that he doesn't want to let you go."

"Farkas!"

"And you spent so much time together…"

"FARKAS!"

His head spun around.

"You're stupid."

I cupped his chin, my thumbs stroking his cheekbones. "Listen to me… your brother did a good job in Blackreach. It was a hard trip, and we had to rely on each other... of course we cared. If we didn't, we would have never made it. Isn't that exactly what you wanted to happen when you sent us off?"

He let his forehead drop on my shoulder and wrapped his arms around me, a slight tremble running through his body as I stroked his back. But slowly he relaxed and released a deep sigh, and a small, insecure smile curled his lips when he lifted his head and searched my eyes.

"I'm a fool. I should be glad that you don't try to kill each other any more."

I returned his smile, glad that he had shaken off this mood. "Nothing will ever be easy with him. We have tried to be honest with each other, but... gods, he's so damned difficult! I even had to shout at him... once. Had to flash-freeze him because he was so annoying."

His eyes shot wide, but then he chuckled. "Well, I guess he earned it." His hand came up, stroked tenderly over my face. "I just missed you so much. I _am_ glad that you get along. Really."

"I'm too," I said softly. "We've come far, your brother and I. It was good I made this journey with him. And it was your idea."

He bit his lip. "Have you spoken about... what happened between you?"

"Yes." The question he didn't dare to ask stood in his eyes. "I don't know, love. I don't know if we will ever be able to leave it behind. But... we have gained distance. And we got to know each other. There's more that we share now."

A small smile spread over his face, and he nodded knowingly. "I know. He cares for you," he said matter-of-factly. As if it made him glad.

I eyed him curiously. "Now that sounds as if you don't mind at all."

"I know it changes nothing between us... whatever it is that you share." He kissed me softly. "I'm just so glad that you're back, Qhouri. That you're safe – both of you. And that you brought him here. You two... you're the most important people in my life. If he needs you or you need him, if you have to work something out... do with him what you want. I trust that you don't hurt each other."

"No guarantees," I grinned, closing my arms around his neck, "he's still an ass, after all. And now I don't wanna speak about him any more. There's something much more important I gotta tell you."

He tilted his head curiously. "And what would that be?"

I pecked him on the lips. "I love you, husband. You've no idea how much. You've no idea how much I missed you. But I had something of you with me all the time. Something precious." I took his hand and pressed his palm on my belly, covering it with my own. It was warm even through the fabric of my tunic. I felt breathless, nervous, excited... and a bit scared of his reaction as he watched my face keenly. "I'm pregnant, Farkas. You're gonna be a father."

He became stiff, rigid like a bar of iron, every single muscle hardening to stone. Slowly his hands came up, settled first on my shoulders, then stroked down my arms as if he didn't know where to put them. His face was a mask of overwhelmed stun, his heart pounding against my palm and his scent flaring up in shock and excitement.

"You're…"

"That's why I had to leave earlier. I've been at the temple, and Danica has confirmed it."

"A… child?"

"Yes, love," I laughed, "you're gonna be a father. Again." I chuckled at the disbelief in his expression. "Danica sends greetings, by the way." It didn't look as if he even understood what I said.

"A child!" It was a cry of delight, and then he laughed and sobbed and pressed sloppy kisses to every bit of skin he could find, and his hands were under my clothes, encircling my waist and pressing me against him with so much force that it took my breath away.

I had hoped and anticipated how he'd react, but to see it happen was a relief nonetheless because it was so impulsive and genuine. To experience this outbreak of unbridled, overwhelmed joy let my own stomach flutter, let me drown in his careless happiness.

"We're gonna be a family!" I laughed against his lips, and with these, with my own words and his reaction to them, this glorious, unrestrained smile and the light in his eyes, the truth of it overwhelmed me. We would be a family, and the world would be safe for us. Because I would take care of that, personally.

He took my shoulders. "You glow," he said, marvelling at my face. "You glow from the inside."

I smiled and wiped over my eyes. "I'm just so relieved. And so happy that you're so happy."

He looked at me for a long time, and I could watch the breathless rapture change into calmer joy that had room for thoughts. "Of course I'm happy. Even if it's a bad moment to be with child."

I shook my head frantically. "I'll make it work. We'll make it work." I leant heavily against him. It was good to know that he'd always be there to lean against. "I just have to hurry up now."

"I'll help you." His voice was rough. "I'll do everything. Anything you need. What does Danica say?"

"That I'm fine, just a bit starved. I was always sick in Blackreach, but it's better already. You'll have to feed me up."

He nodded eagerly. "Can you… feel it already? And how did that happen anyway? I know you've taken those potions. Always."

"Yeah, that was Vilkas' first question as well," I grinned.

It was the wrong answer, and I cursed myself for my improvidence, wanted to slap myself when his face fell into disappointment.

"Vilkas? You told Vilkas before me?"

I caressed his cheek. "Of course not. _He_ told _me_."

Now he was completely confused. "_Vilkas_ told _you_ that _you're_ pregnant?"

I sighed. "Yes. You know he's far too clever for his own good. And a keen observer. And… at first, I didn't want to believe it."

"Now I'm really jealous," he mumbled, "I would have liked to share that moment with you."

I laid my arms around his neck, tangled my fingers into his hair. "We'll have lots of moments, love," I said softly. "Better moments. More important moments. I promise."

The light was back in his eyes when he tilted his head, together with a cheeky sparkle. "Do you know how long? I mean… you know when it happened?"

I chuckled. Of course I wasn't absolutely sure, but after Danica's examination and with my assumptions about the influence of the beastblood, I had at least a guess. A very educated guess.

"Sometime during our honeymoon. Perhaps at the hot springs." Masser had been full during those days, and we had not restrained ourselves, relished in the solitude and the shared experiences.

He held me tight, and I felt the rush of emotions that coursed through his body with a nearly physical impact. Joy, and love, and hope. A tiny, healthy dose of fear and the quiet determination to make the best of this new challenge. This child meant a future we never dared to think of before.

"Hey," I whispered into his ear, "you wanna see it?"

His eyes went wide. "How? I can't even feel it yet."

"Oh yes, you can. If you know what to look for." I had lost weight in Blackreach, and when I had taken a thorough, extensive bath in the morning, I had discovered a tiny, barely noticeable bulge in my belly. But now I took my satchel and pulled out a rolled up parchment.

"From Danica for you. It's a life detection spell." I chuckled at his incredulous gaze. "She has a whole stack of them for occasions like this. You just gotta read it."

He took it with hesitation and eyed it suspiciously. "Magic? Will it harm you?"

"No. It just affects you. Makes you see… dunno, my life-force. I tried it out, it's really harmless."

I stood up and before him while he unrolled the paper with careful motions. I had no idea how these things worked, but it seemed that the spell was somehow stored in the scroll and could be released just by reading the words. Everyone was able to use them, even someone like Farkas – who held it now with obvious nervousness.

"What will I see?"

I gave him an encouraging smile. "Just try it out."

His eyes flitted from the scroll to my belly and back, and finally he started to read with quiet mumbling. As soon as the paper crumpled into dust, his gaze shot up, the nervousness instantly changing into startled excitement. He gasped, his eyes growing wide.

"You really glow." His voice was shallow. "There's something… in you!" He shifted to his knees and laid his palms on my abdomen. "Here. I can see it. It's not you. It's something else." He just stared at me, breathless wonder in his face, and only let his forehead drop against my belly when the effect of the spell faded.

I stroked his hair. "It's our child, love," I whispered.

He stayed like this for a long moment, his face pressed against me. When he lifted his eyes to my face, his arms coming around my hips, they shone with so much love and tenderness that it took my breath away. "Yeah. We will be a family." His quiet fortitude moistened my eyes, and I blinked against the tears. He shot up and swept me into his arms. "Qhouri? What's the matter?"

I hid my face in his chest. Damn mood-swings. "Thank you," I muttered.

His embrace tightened, but then I felt his palm on my cheek, lifting up my face. "You will be the most glorious pregnant world-saviour ever," he said with an expression of irresistible seriousness. "And then we will be a family." He made it sound like a fact that was written in stone. My feeble smile was disturbed by a hiccup.

"Thank you."

His laughter was brilliant. "You are bearing my child, woman. I have to be thankful!" He slung his arm around my shoulder. "Let's go home. I want you to show me what to look for."

"Okay. And I'm starving."

"You only just had breakfast!" Farkas grinned at my indignant expression.

"That's hours ago already," I huffed, "and I have to catch up. And now… I want smoked slaughterfish. With pickled onions and vanilla sauce."

"Together? On a single plate?" He looked horrified when I nodded vigorously. I had no idea why.

But when we left our shelter, my gaze was immediately captured by a movement in the sky, a dark, winged shadow circling over one of the mountaintops north of us, not far from the point where Vilkas and I had left Blackreach the night before. The dragon's shriek was not audible from where we stood, but the reptile was obviously hunting, we saw it swoop down onto a point below it, saw it spit a stream of ice when it hovered over its prey.

I prayed it were just frost trolls or sabrecats it was after and not innocent travellers crossing the mountains, and my mind darkened. I didn't want this reminder, not now, but the gods never cared for what I wanted. There were so many of them, and it seemed they became more frequent every day.

Farkas noticed my frown and followed my gaze, and when he saw what I saw, his grip around my shoulders became firmer and he turned us away, led me around the Dragonsreach cliff back to the gates of Whiterun.

"Don't think about them, Qhouri," he said with a calm smile. "Not today, not tomorrow. You need this time… and I don't wanna share you with them now. Alright?"

I looked up into his face, into his expression of deep caring, and nodded. He was right, I needed this time. We needed this time.

* * *

"Kids… what did you think? Did you think at all? You really wanna send me into an early grave, don't you?"

_Kids?_

I looked at Kodlak in disbelief, the corners of his mouth twitching in agitation. He was completely beside himself.

We had left Breezehome for Jorrvaskr in the early evening, hoping that at least some of the Companions were back from their jobs, and found Torvar and Athis leaning against the rim of the well in the marketplace, chatting with Carlotta and teasing her daughter, both dusty and tired but chewing enthusiastically on the apples the merchant woman had gifted them. And their faces were priceless when they saw us coming up the street.

"I knew that hole in the earth would spit you out again," Athis laughed when he threw his arms around me and I veered him around, earning us a grin from Farkas and Carlotta. And Torvar punched my shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark, and pulled an exaggerated face.

"Finally I can tell you how much I hate you. And that husband of yours, but he knows it already."

I grinned at him. "I love you too, Torvar. And we'll make up for it, promised."

Farkas interrupted our banter. "Where are you heading, up to the hall or directly to the Mare?"

"Well," Torvar drawled, "we wanted to allow ourselves an afterwork drink under Hulda's loving eyes, but I think we're gonna cancel that plan?"

"Yes," Athis grinned, "I wanna hear how the bowels of the earth look like. And what kind of milkdrinkers live there that they can't even digest our Qhouri."

And while the boys changed out of their armours and washed away the dirt of the road, we visited Kodlak to bring him up to date. Who had immediately started to yell at us, and our clueless looks didn't ease his foul mood at all. It seemed as if he had just waited for my return to get this roasting off his chest.

"You two are insane," he bellowed. "First you run off to marry. No, I don't care for your reasons! We're your family, we would have liked to share that day with you! But no, you didn't even bother to ask, and instead to rely on us you ask _thieves_ for assistance! Of all people available in Riften you ask this wretched gang of scum? Seriously? That the priest let them enter the temple at all is a miracle all in itself! And then you," his finger pointed accusatory at Farkas, "get yourself blinded by those bloody bugs like a bloody greenhorn and let your wife run off with her worst enemy. For weeks! Months! Whose stupid idea was that, anyway? And now that you're finally back," his finger wandered to me, "you bring him home? And now he's off again? With _Njada_? _On a Companions job?_ You really think this is how it works?"

The old man buried his head in his hands and breathed heavily. My bad conscience kicked in like the fist of a troll.

Kodlak's head shot up again when we didn't say a word, grey eyes flaring with anger. "By the way, where is the blasted thing now?"

"What thing?" Farkas asked cluelessly.

"The scroll, Icebrain! Shor's bones, I'm really not into magic, but even I know that it can turn the world upside down if it gets into the wrong hands. So, where is it?"

I hesitated. "Eh… Vilkas had it. I think… he left it in our guest room this morning."

I hoped so, at least. Not that I had asked him. Perhaps he had just… forgotten about it in the rush of his departure, and the scroll had already driven an unsuspecting, innocent necromancer into madness. Or a troll had eaten it when he dropped his pack somewhere.

Kodlak's expression twisted into something between rage and resignation. "Oh. You _think_ it's in your guest room? Is it at least hidden under his pillow, or did he just drop it off with his laundry?"

Err… if I remembered those moments in the Tower Mzark correctly, he had _wrapped_ it into his laundry. The heat of embarrassment shot into my face. With this at least the Harbinger was right. We were careless… something like the Elder Scroll had to be kept in safe custody.

"I'm gonna…" I hesitated, not sure if I was allowed to ask for it. "Can I bring it here? To Jorrvaskr, to keep it safe till I need it?"

"Finally! A glimpse of common sense!" He stared at me. "Of course you can bring it here. I request that you bring it here! No safer place in all of Whiterun, you know that. I'll have an eye on it personally." He sighed deeply. "Divines… in their guestroom… I'm too old for this…"

He took a deep breath. "Okay. Anything else I should know?"

Farkas and I looked at each other. "Yes," we said simultaneously.

Kodlak just grunted annoyed. "Out with it."

"Vilkas wants to return to Jorrvaskr," I said.

"Qhouri is pregnant."

Kodlak slumped back into his chair, his eyes wide. "No."

A look, and we quickly agreed that it was better to remain quiet for the moment.

"I really hope the first isn't the cause of the latter. Or vice versa."

"Of course not!" Farkas blurted out.

Our Harbinger looked very tired suddenly. He leant forwards, propped his elbows on his knees and rubbed his temples. "Sorry. That was uncalled for." A small smile curled his lips, and I was relieved to see him slowly return to his old self. "I'm not sure… is it already allowed to congratulate, or should I wait until the whelp enters the world? And… is it one, or two?"

"Only one," I laughed, "at least if Danica is reliable."

But then I took in his harsh, gaunt features that made him look so eerily exhausted and swallowed. He had worried… for the Companions as a group and for every single one of us, and it had taken its toll. "I'm sorry, Kodlak. I know we were rash, and… we had to make fast decisions, and there were many moments when I wished I could just come here and talk to you. Ask for your advice. Perhaps not everything we did was really clever. But it was no mistake to marry Farkas, and it wasn't a mistake either to go to Blackreach with Vilkas. Please believe me."

I lowered my head. "Perhaps it was wrong to talk him into coming to Whiterun with me. He didn't want to… he's scared. But he's also homesick…"

My voice trailed off when I met Kodlak's incredulous glance. "You pity him, Qhouri."

I straightened myself. "Yes, I do, like I'd pity everybody who is denied to come home." I clenched my teeth. "Kodlak… please. You once told me that I have to face him, and I called you a fool for that. But I did, and it has cost us all a lot of blood, sweat and tears, but I've made my peace with him. And he with me, and that's perhaps equally important. Of course he can always stay with the Blades… but I wish you'd speak with him."

Kodlak's expression was pensive and doubting, but it also showed his usual friendliness, wisdom and empathy again - with an edge beneath it that revealed that he wouldn't be fooled. That the peace of the Companions as a whole was worth much more to him than the well-being of a single – former – member, even if he knew him for more than 30 years. He was our Harbinger for a reason.

"Farkas?" he turned to my husband.

He didn't hesitate. "Sweat, blood and tears, yes. Those two have fought, Kodlak, literally and with everything they have. But they've also gone through Blackreach and come out alive, they kept each other safe and came home together. That's enough for me."

Kodlak's gaze lingered on Farkas, with that tentative smile that revealed his affection. He had raised those men after all, they were like sons to him, and he wasn't ashamed to show it, like Farkas was never ashamed to confide in this affection.

"I can't and won't decide this on my own," he said finally. "Before I speak with him, I'll have at least a word with Aela. When will Vilkas and Njada be back?"

"Tomorrow afternoon probably."

"Alright. Tell him to keep the evening free."

* * *

An arrow whizzed past my head, so close that the fletching nearly caressed my earlobe, and lodged itself neatly into the temple of the scrubby Nord that was far too busy dodging and blocking my blade to realise what was happening in the background of the small cavern.

"Thank you, sister!" I yelled and heard Aela's answering laughter from behind while another bandit already approached quickly, this one in heavy but rusty iron armour and wielding a battleaxe nearly as large as himself.

"Yours!" I shouted and darted past him, already in his back and engaging the last of our enemies while he still tried to follow my manoeuvre and turned on the spot, the head of his axe describing a large arc that was slow and predictable enough to bring up my shield and let it slide off. Aela's first arrow pierced his side below the massive chestplate, and he doubled over with a scream. The second ran through his throat, and the scream became a gurgle. Poor fellow.

The last of these cutthroats was a wannabe-Athis, a Dunmer in shabby leather armour, wielding two daggers. He was fast, much faster than the attacks of my long blade, and his daggers came forth like the heads of a snake, unpredictable and vicious, searching for gaps in my armour and cover. But I had trained with one of the best dual wielding warriors in all of Skyrim and wasn't as easy to fool as he thought.

"This is mine," I panted when Aela appeared in the corner of my eyes, bow discarded and her own shortsword already drawn, "leave me at least a bit of the fun!"

Aela eyed our dance around each other critically for a moment, then she sheathed her sword and started to search through the chests at the edge of the room. When I heard her content grunt, I knew she had found what we were looking for – an ornamented, blunt, ancient greatsword with a distinctive jadegreen jewel embedded into the silver knot of the hilt. The family sword of a Whiterun citizen who had told us a touching story about how his father and grandfather had fed their entire families using this weapon and that he didn't want to let it rot in some bloody bandit's trophy room. He didn't elaborate how it came there in the first place, but he paid us well to retrieve it back, and Aela's expression showed that she had found even more. Gold and jewels probably, something to stuff our purses.

On next glance she had settled back to front on a crude wooden chair, her forearms crossed on top of the backrest.

"Hurry up a bit, Qhouri," she said with a grin, "I wanna get out of here."

My opponent gritted his teeth at her casual banter, increasingly desperate that he wasn't able to slice past my cover. In the meantime I had inflicted him with a bleeding slash into the muscle of his upper arm and a shield bash that would colour his lower ribs black and blue for weeks – just that he wouldn't live to endure it.

"Not so hasty," I laughed, "I need the exercise. I've fought nothing but Falmer and machines for weeks and always had a big bad greatsword in front of me!"

She watched my next move, a stab to the unprotected throat of the man that he blocked by crossing his blades in front of his chest, countering my movement by a swift arch of his back. But he had to step back and I followed his retreat, ignored the feigned lefthanded attack to my side and hammered the edge of my shield downwards against the wrist of his right hand when it shot forwards in a low strike against my upper thigh. Something crushed, he screamed and the weapon fell with a dull clang to the ground. A fast kick and it was out of his reach, ending up between Aela's feet who immediately started to clean her fingernails with it.

"Well, that sword can't have been that big and bad, you're by no means out of practice," she smirked.

I observed myself carefully while I fought, tried to assess if anything had already changed. Since we had left Blackreach and Farkas took care that I got rest and everything my stomach desired in abundance, I felt like a completely new person. And despite the exertions of the last weeks, I was in good shape, strong and persevering. Farkas hadn't been thrilled to let me go on this job with Aela, although it was nothing special or particularly dangerous, but he would have to get used to it. I was neither ill nor injured, and it would do me no good to let laziness become a habit, even if I had earned some recreation time.

I stalled my opponent for a bit, the man already panting heavily and sweat pouring in torrents down his dark grey face, leaving traces in his maroon warpaint. The way he clenched the handle of his remaining weapon showed that it made his palms already slippery. And he gritted his teeth to overcome the pain from the broken wrist, the hand hanging useless by his side, but I knew it had to spoil his reactions.

"Has Kodlak already spoken with you?"

Aela seemed a bit perplexed about this question. "About what?"

Obviously, he hadn't.

"Vilkas of course," I shouted while moving again, shifting my weight to get the leverage for the next strike. It was time to end this. I feigned an attack to his hip, made him twist sidewards just to stop his movement with a thrust of my shield to the bottom of his already bruised ribcage. Those dragon claws attached to its edge didn't just look vicious. They pierced easily even through hardened leather, and they left his waist with several clearly defined, heavily bleeding holes, the impact additionally breaking a rib.

The mer doubled over and fell to his knees, wailing in pain, and Dragonbane's long blade sliced smoothly through his exposed neck. Suddenly is was quiet, and I turned to Aela.

"He wants to speak with you before he meets him tonight. Vilkas wants to return."

Aela sat completely relaxed on her chair, her chin propped on her forearms. And her smile was devious.

"Oh, does he now? Then I shouldn't let our Harbinger wait, should I?"

I loved my sister dearly, but sometimes I just wanted to shove a boot up her bottom.

"Do you have an opinion on this, Aela?" I snapped at her, but it didn't disturb her fabulous mood at all.

"Not sure," she smirked. "Am I allowed to treat him like a whelp? Will he take over the ledgers again? Will he go hunting with me when you're gone? Will he do what I tell him? Will he be _nice_?" She threw her hands in the air. "So many questions!"

"You always preferred to hunt alone," I growled, but she already left the cave with fast steps and vanished into the dark tunnels that led to the exit, the sword we had come for strapped to her back. It looked silly, the small, slender woman with the huge weapon that stabbed with every step into the backs of her knees.

Only when we were out in the daylight again, she turned to me, and now her expression was serious.

"Yes, I have an opinion," she said. "He is part of the pack, and the pack is sacred to me. We are what we are, and even if memories can haunt us, the past should be laid to rest. Better live for the moment." She rested a hand on my shoulder. "If you can let go, I can as well, Qhouri."

* * *

_Beware, beware, the Dragonborn…_

Mikael's line died in his throat immediately when we entered the Mare, I didn't even have to scowl at him. Seemed he had learned. And I was in the soothing, reassuring company of my siblings, sure as hell didn't he want to get on the wrong side of us all.

I didn't want to be the Dragonborn tonight. It was fun to recount our adventures in Blackreach in front of the eager faces of the Companions, but for the moment, I didn't want to think of the immediate future. At least not of the part that involved the scroll that lay hidden in a heavily locked case in Kodlak's study, not of Paarthurnax, not of Alduin. And I also didn't want to think of what was going on in Breezehome at the moment, where two men tried to figure out how to go on.

There was so much we had to celebrate, I was dead set to take advantage of the opportunity. I had earned it.

When Njada had stumbled into the training yard in the afternoon, she came directly from the temple. The wounds she had suffered from the necromancers had been severe, too severe for a simple healing potion, extensive burns and nasty scorch marks left by lightning attacks, and she admitted openly that she'd be dead without Vilkas.

"He just did his bloody job, exactly what I expect from a shield-brother," she said dryly but without malice when she had settled beside us on the porch, and as a thanks for the ale Farkas handed her, she punched him in the shoulder. "But you still owe me."

And now we sat around our usual large table in the inn, Njada cuddled wearily on Athis' lap who was arguing with Aela about the best way to deal with a Dwemer Centurion if there was no Dragonfire available, Ria singing along with Mikael, and I leant against Farkas' shoulder and sipped on the single goblet of watered-down wine I was allowed over the course of the evening. And Torvar had found a convenient victim for his quips, having fun with me and my involuntary abstinence, but Farkas had an eye on me - Danica had forbidden excessive drinking, Danica's word was law, and he was determined to take care that I complied. His constant joking and cheering with Torvar wasn't very helpful, though. Not at all.

"Guys… if you go on like that, you can say goodbye to any plans of future fatherhoods right here and now. Both of you," I growled.

"You know, Qhouri… I don't hate you so much any more," Torvar drawled in response, a cheeky grin splitting his face. "You're already punished enough. Divines, I never thought I'd ever be so glad not to be a woman!"

And my husband had nothing better to do than to burst into roaring laughter.

It became late, conversations slowly turning into onesided, slurred speeches and songs into bawled, wordless caterwauling, Hulda keeping her maids busy and her guests happy. I watched the ruckus around me with an unusually clear head, but strangely, it wasn't unpleasant to be sober for once while everybody else gradually drowned in their intoxication.

"What do you think, should I ask Vilkas to join us?" Farkas asked suddenly and in a low voice, bowing down to me.

He started me up. "Eh… you don't know what Kodlak has told him. Perhaps he's gonna leave tomorrow."

His gaze was thoughtful. "I'd like to ask him."

I looked into the round, into the cheerful, more or less drunk faces of the Companions, the atmosphere at our table so wonderfully relaxed. To bring Vilkas here would destroy the mood, of that I was certain – but it had to happen, sooner or later.

"Now's as good a moment as any," I said with a shrug. "Perhaps better than tomorrow when everybody has a hangover."

"Everybody but you," Farkas snickered. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

It seemed to become quiet when the two huge, bulky Nords suddenly stood in the door to the inn, the cold air of the night rushing in before Farkas kicked it shut. Of course it didn't – although the brothers were always an attention-getting appearance, especially when they turned up together, most of the patrons were more interested in their tankards than in any other guests. But our table became silent, all conversations died at a blow when every eye turned to them. From the corner of my eyes I saw Athis whisper something to Njada who released him, and then he stood up and went towards the men, slender, dark and straight, his lips pressed tight in determination, crimson eyes narrowed on Vilkas with a seriousness nobody was used from him.

When he stood before him, the tension seemed to become corporeal, and it released violently when the mer's fists crushed into Vilkas' face with the speed of a snake's head and all the power his trained body was able to muster, one hitting his jaw, the other breaking his nose. The attack came and was over so fast that neither Vilkas nor Farkas were able to react in time.

Now the inn was quiet, the attention of every single person directed at the three Companions at the door. Athis stood motionless in front of the brothers, tense like a bowstring, ready to defend himself against anything Vilkas might throw at him.

"You had that coming for far too long, _brother_," he spat between gritted teeth, but Vilkas stood still as stone, his face rapidly swelling, blood trickling from his nose down his chin and into the neckline of his tunic. The mer only relaxed slightly when I stood behind him, my hands on his shoulders.

"Leave it, Athis. Please."

He leant shortly against me, regained his composure, then turned stiffly on his heels. And he wore a malicious smirk.

"That was long overdue, Qhouri," he said loud enough that no one could miss his words while he went calmly back to his place, "and I'm not finished with him yet."

Vilkas flinched when I touched his chin and examined his face. "You need to see a healer," I muttered, "just let me stop the bleeding first." He endured the healing without complaint, but when Farkas took him by the elbow, he broke free. His gaze ran through the room, over the faces of the Companions, teeth clenched and hands balled into whiteknuckled fists, and finally met mine. Hard and icy, full of pride and determination... and something that was only for me. Hope, trust and gratitude... and the iron will to fight through this. He would not back out, not from them and not from me. I bit my lip and averted my eyes.

"Just gonna wash," he grunted, "gimme a second."

I took a deep breath and steeled myself before I went back to my place.

"Move on, Torvar," I shooed him onto the next chair before I took his, then I looked into every single face assembled around me. I felt the tension in the air, the surprise and the doubts in my siblings.

"Vilkas will join us because I want him to join us. If one of you has a problem with this… with him, or with me… feel free to take it out on us. But not here, and not today. Please."

Nobody moved and nobody left, even if it was only because they were simply too curious to miss how the night would develop further. And when the twins finally joined us, Vilkas took deliberately the place between his brother and Athis. It took an endless, incredibly awkward moment of silence, but when nothing happened at all, people returned finally to their drinks. And it didn't take long until Vilkas was drawn into the conversations of his brother with Athis and Torvar, though forced and taciturn. But it was a start.

Only when he turned to a nearly sleeping Njada and asked her if her burns had been treated well, something more than shallow banter between drinking buddies shone through. Njada just nodded drowsily, but Athis eyed the Companion's bruised face over the brim of his tankard. "You know, Vilkas," he said, "Qhouri is a pretty lousy healer, not only compared to Danica. You should really go to the temple and get that pretty face of yours fixed."

"I think I earned it, greyskin," Vilkas answered, his voice constrained by the injury, "and it will heal anyway."

Not a trace of amusement was in Athis' voice. "Yes, you did, and much more than that." He took a deep gulp, then he lifted his tankard. "Drinking helps too. You should hurry up, we've quite a lead."


End file.
